There is a Light That Never Goes out
by Lady Ten
Summary: Set in present day. The Langdons are still living in the Murder House and Tate hasn't gone through with the massacre yet. The Harmons move in to a house across the street. Violet is attracted to the darkness in Tate and the mysteries of his house, but will she be able to prevent the impending horrors or are they all destined for hell? Told from the alternating POV of Tate & Violet.
1. Chapter 1: Tate

**AN: Hello readers! Here are some explanations before you get started reading my little experiment here. All of this takes place in present day. Tate is living in the Murder House, and he hasn't committed the massacre yet, but is about to. The Harmon's move across the street, Tate and Violet will meet, and we shall see what happens from there. Everything else is the same, for now. I hope you enjoy my rewrite of events. Each chapter will be from either Tate or Violet's POV. Rating will definitely increase as more chapters get posted. The title was taken from a Smith's song and more Smith's/Morrissey inspiration will most likely follow. Please review, but be nice as I've never attempted an AHS fic before and haven't posted a story on FF for years.  
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own AHS. **

He was going to do it. This week. The pressure inside his head had grown to a level so great that he just could not take it anymore. All of his thoughts revolved around it. How he would do it. What it would look like. How it would feel.

Sitting in his bedroom in solitude, as was normal for him, he bent over his little desk and sharply inhaled another line of cocaine from the four rows he had set up for himself. His afternoon ritual.

Every day was the same, wake up (if he had fallen asleep at all), go downstairs only to be ignored by his horrible mother, throw Addie a small smile, go to school, get through it with minimal contact with other people, come home, lock himself in his room until he passed out. Except things had changed within the past month. His mother had a new boyfriend, and Tate had one less sibling. He _knew_ that Larry Harvey had killed his brother. He _knew_ that his mother had asked him to.

His whole life made him sick. Everyone made him sick. The world was a horrific place and he didn't want to be a part of it anymore. Why would anyone want to live in a world like this so full of pain and misery. His only solace growing up was Nora.

He had met her when he was just a child, a little time after his father had left them. The pretty maid had left then too, his mother sometimes said that they went away together, when she was in her drunken rages, but otherwise she refused to talk about it. Tate had liked the pretty maid, Moira, she was nice. He missed his father and didn't understand why he would leave him with the creature that was his mother. But the pretty maid had come back, and Tate slowly realized over the years that everyone who died in the house eventually came back.

Nora was like a mommy to his seven year old self, she had protected him from the monster in the basement, given him a way to escape the ghosts. Nora was so sad though, and all he wanted to do was to make her happy, like she made him happy. If he died, then maybe he could spend forever making her happy.

The cocaine spread through his face and body, the burn swiftly followed by the beautiful numbness that Tate had grown to depend upon. Idly, he poked the right side of his face, near his nose, with a sharpened pencil and felt nothing.

Tate licked his index finger and picked up the remnants of the line, rubbing it along his gums, spreading the numbness. Glancing up, he caught a reflection of himself in a mirror on the wall. His dark eyes were wide, pupils dilated, hung with deep dark circles and bags from endless nights of little to no sleep. The voices in his head wouldn't shut up long enough to let him sleep and if it wasn't voices in his head it was voices from the ghosts that lived here. If he did fall asleep the nightmares woke him, cold sweat making his long hair stick to his face and the sheets to his naked torso. His hair was too long, he should cut it, but he just didn't care. Tate didn't care about a single thing anymore.

Tate, the only outwardly normal one of his siblings, yet seemingly undeserving of the love of anybody, even his own mother. The only one of them who seemed to actually like him was Addie, his poor sister. She didn't have it as bad as Beau did though. Tate didn't think that anyone had it as bad as Beau.

What sickness had infiltrated his family that they would all be so…wrong? What in the hell had his mother done? Why did he have to be different? Maybe if he was like Addie then he would garner some attention from his drunk of a mother. But she only had eyes for Addie, her dogs, and her dog of a boyfriend.

Rage, always just lying under the surface of him, bubbled up then and he snorted another line before going over to his bed and grabbing the bundles underneath. Soon it would all be over and he could live in peace, maybe even with Nora, if he could make it back to the house in time to die.

He unfolded the cloth concealing his prized possessions. A shotgun, single barreled, heavy and solid. A 1911 handgun and another shotgun. He stroked the single barreled shotgun lovingly; this one would be his favored weapon when we went to war.

Tate's reverie was broken by the sound of car doors slamming outside. He strode over to the window that looked over the street and pushed aside the heavy curtains. There was a moving truck parked across the street and dark silver Volvo SUV behind it. Two people were getting out of the car, a man in a dark coat and a hipster hat, and a red headed woman with a small dog in her arms.

"Oh great, new neighbors." Tate muttered sarcastically.

He was about to turn away in boredom when the back door of the car opened and a girl in a dress and a yellow sweater slid out.

The house across from his hadn't been for sale for long. The previous family, after complaining about the strange noises coming from the massive Langdon house constantly for the past 5 years, had finally given up and moved away.

The man and the woman walked up the driveway as movers began unloading the truck. The girl just stood next the car, shoulders slumped, arms crossed in front of her. He couldn't make out her face from here but he could tell she had long, dirty blonde hair, was wearing a dark dress, and although she was small, she appeared to be about his age. She stood there for a moment, scanning the quiet street, Tate's house catching her attention almost immediately. She walked across the street slowly, gazing up at the gargantuan Victorian house. Tate detested the grandeur of this house, yet he thought its Addam's Family-esque style was rather fitting for his ridiculous family.

The girl stopped on the sidewalk, hands gripping the spiked wrought iron fence that bordered his house. Suddenly she noticed him standing at the window on the second floor. She tilted her head to the side, unembarrassed at having being caught looking. They stared at one another for a long moment, curious. Then her parents must have called to her because her head snapped around, hair flaring out from her shoulders with the force of her turn. With one last glance up at him she walked back across the street and entered her new house.


	2. Chapter 2: Violet

**A/N: Hello readers! Thanks to ParzivalHallows, jandjsalmon, and Sarah v for the lovely reviews and also to those who followed and favorited. I have to admit I was nervous to post this story but your encouragement means the world to me and feeds my muse. I do hope that you enjoy this chapter; it is from Violet's point of view. The chapters are going to alternate between them, so you'll see events from two different perspectives, plus their lives outside of each other. Don't fret, they'll meet pretty soon. Please review and tell me what you think! **

Violet was depressed. She knew it and her parents knew it yet it was rarely discussed amongst them despite the fact that her dad was a psychologist. They had, had to pick up and move 3,000 miles just for her parents to have a chance at being together and she resented this. Resented her father's weakness, her mother's weakness. The whole situation disgusted her.

Up until the affair had come to light Violet had been a fairly normal girl, albeit a little dark. She liked to read and listen to music, particularly Morrissey. He seemed to hate everyone as much as she did. She had few friends and preferred to read and listen to music in her spare time, in solitude. Most people were annoying as hell anyway.

When her parents had told her that they had decided to move to Los Angeles she had been furious. Boston was her home. She was going to attend an ivy league on the east coast. She loved seasons, particularly autumn when everything began to die and the trees burst into flames of yellow, red and orange, eventually becoming stark skeletons against the crisp winter sky. Los Angeles was a foreign land full of Barbies and Kens, with perpetual sunshine and silicone. She wouldn't survive there.

But she did survive. It was what she did. When her mother had lost her baby brother and had retreated into herself, Violet had survived. When her friends had stopped coming over because her house was so depressing, she had survived. When her father had been found screwing someone young enough to be her sister, she had survived. A year of family therapy had tested her survival skills but she was able to fake her way through it all, sullenly, but satisfactorily.

Violet had begun smoking the day she found out her dad had cheated on her mom. She found his secret stash of cigarettes and had taken them all, leaving the house and hiding in a park a mile away. She smoked every one of them, making herself nauseous and dizzy, but forcing her lungs to get over the pain and to embrace the buzz of the nicotine. The habit had stuck and had become her coping mechanism. She couldn't care less if her parents found out about her little habit. They had no room to judge her or to tell her what to do.

Now, sitting in the back of the new Volvo her dad had bought upon arrival in LA, she craved a cigarette more than anything. She tried telling her parents that she needed to go to the bathroom but that just started a falsely cheerful tangent about her language and how it was a good thing her parents hadn't named her "Sunshine". Sick.

She noticed when her father reached for her mother's hand. Noticed when her mother pulled out of his grip. There was no way that moving 3,000 miles was going to change one thing about their family. They were doomed and they had brought her along with them to watch her family go down in flames in a foreign land. Violet glanced at the dog in the special doggie car seat next to her and part of her just wanted to wring its scrawny neck. Her mother's new favorite child.

Violet knew she was just one more problem that her parents had to deal with but she didn't care. At least they paid attention to her when she was acting like a bitch.

The street they turned on to was lined with mini-mansions. Violet stared out the window as house after identical house passed in and out of her line of vision. She saw the moving truck up ahead and her father pulled over and parked behind it.

She had seen pictures of the house on the website the real estate agent ran. Violet hated it.

She hadn't exactly loved their old house either but it was what she thought of as home and this one looked like a carbon copy of the ones to either side of it.

Upon request, Violet unbuckled the dog and handed it over to her mother and her parents exited the car. A silly part of her mind thought that if she just didn't leave the car that all of this would just go away, that it wouldn't be real, but she was too logical for that. With a sigh, and another pang of her nicotine cravings, she opened the door.

The LA heat hit her face like a warm, humid towel. Despite it, she kept her dark yellow sweater on, refusing to relinquish even a bit of her Boston life. The sun beat down upon her as she looked up and down the unremarkable street. Then she saw it.

The house across from hers was like something out of a Tim Burton movie. It was clearly old, and Victorian, with a menacing wrought iron fence surrounding it. It was made of brick and was all sharp angles, white stone carvings, and dark windows.

"Great, our neighbors are the Addams Family." She muttered, yet couldn't look away.

Violet was drawn to the house and began to make her way across the quiet street. She walked right up to the fence and gripped the bars, examining every detail she could see from her vantage point. Her eyes took in the rose bushes and a large front porch with columns rising up to the roof. She thought she would enjoy reading on that brick railing. Why couldn't her parents have bought a _cool_ house instead of a cookie cutter one?

A movement on the second story caught her eye and she was startled to see a boy looking down at her from a window. She couldn't see much of him but he look to be her age or a little older, with blonde hair, and a striped sweater.

Refusing to appear as if she had been caught at something, she remained calm, assuming her usual impassive face that she used on her parents. They stood there, gazing at each other for what seemed like five minutes but was probably only a couple seconds before she heard her father call to her from across the street.

"Hey! Crabby Pants!" he bellowed, "Come here!"

His shout startled her out of the strange staring contest she was having with the boy in the window and she spun around towards her new house. With a sigh of embarrassment and annoyance, Violet took one last look up at her new neighbor and walked back across the street, feeling his eyes upon her the whole way.


	3. Chapter 3: Tate

**A/N: Hello again all! Thank you to jandjsalmon, ****Sarah v, Silly Girl, and Delena-Fan-for-life for your reviews, they really do mean the world to me! Also thanks to the other who**** followed and favorited the last chapters! Here's a Tate chapter for you, enjoy!**

Tate's alarm clock went off at 6 am but he was already awake. He had passed out from exhaustion around 1am but another nightmare had awakened him only a half hour later. It was the same old dream; you'd think he would be used to it by now. Striding down the hallways of the school, face painted up like a skeleton. Students dodged him right and left, his pace unbroken as they stared after him in either fear or disgust.

The dreams had begun a couple of years ago for no reason and without warning. Some were worse than others but over time he had found that, upon waking, the images and feelings of rage and terror did not go away. They lingered and became stronger. Prior to the dreams he had been a relatively normal guy, not outgoing and happy, but he had done track, been on honor roll, the works. But all that had soon changed.

He longed to just skip school and hide out at the beach that he had discovered awhile back, his haven from the world when everything became too much, but his absences had been noticed and he knew he had to drag himself to that cesspool if he ever wanted to graduate and escape.

Pulling on a black tee shirt from his closet and zipping up a plain, black hoodie, Tate was barely conscious of his actions. His head was pounding and screaming, every thought of blood and violence and the impending death of anyone he could get at school. He completed the outfit with ripped jeans over his boxers, swearing as he stumbled a bit over his own pant legs as he pulled them on.

It wouldn't be today, but soon. He would know when the time was right.

After snorting two lines of the white powder on his desk and pocketing a small brown vial of it for later, Tate thumped down the stairs, making his footsteps as loud as possible, and entered the kitchen. Larry was standing by the coffee pot, fixing himself some toast. He didn't turn around as Tate took a couple more steps towards him.

_It would be so easy to kill you, you son of a bitch, _Tate thought, envisioning picking up the knife from the wooden block next to him and plunging it into Larry's spinal column, right at the base of the neck. _ So easy._

He was drawn out of his fantasy when Larry turned around, unsurprised to see Tate standing behind him, face dark with hatred. He was wearing one of his usual ill-fitting suits and his hat was sitting on the table.

"Well good morning Tate," Larry said, false cheerfulness apparent in his voice. They hated each other, that was no secret, but Larry always pretended that nothing was amiss in his never-ending quest to please Constance.

Not that she noticed.

Tate strode through the kitchen, his eyes never leaving Larry's face. Larry tried to hold his gaze but, coward that he was, shuddered slightly and went back to his toast.

On his way to the door, Tate stooped and picked up his black Converse, sliding them on without unlacing them. Right before he left he saw Moira out of the corner of his eye, appearing as her elderly self this time, polishing silverware in the formal dining room. She glanced at him and swiftly looked away. He had that effect on people, dead or alive.

_Ah another day in this shit-hole,_ Tate thought as he walked through the courtyard which was packed with students socializing before class, _In a couple of days you are all going to hell._

He didn't have any friends at school, but he didn't have any enemies either. He spent most of his time outside of classes in the library, reading poetry and looking at books on nature. He had never had a girlfriend despite the advances of a couple of the braver girls, or the new students who didn't know him or his reputation. He knew he was attractive to them, he got checked out enough, but he had no time or energy for that. As far back as he could remember, anyone he had ever gotten to know disappointed him, or he scared them off, so he had just stopped trying. What was the point anyway? He wasn't loveable; he wasn't friend-material so he stuck to himself. Tate had gotten a reputation for being, while not outwardly rude or mean, very reserved. Some thought he was shy, others thought he was stuck up, but he really didn't give a shit what they thought.

When he had first started high school some of the older jocks had noticed him and attempted to push him around, to put him in his place.

He had put them in theirs.

They hadn't bothered him since.

Tate wove his way through throngs of students chattering their brainless chatter, gossiping about one another, spreading rumors or blabbing embarrassing secrets. They were all sick and pathetic and had no loyalty or pride.

A commotion from the other side of the courtyard caught everyone's attention and even Tate slowed, looking over to see the coke-whore Leah and her minions picking on someone that he couldn't see. Shrieking ensued and he lost interest. Leah had always been a mean girl and a bully and he hoped whoever she was picking on beat the shit out of her for once. Not likely, since Leah fought dirty. Tate had gone to school with her for years and they had the same coke dealer. She was a bitch and utterly uninteresting to him.

Tate continued on to class, while the drama continued behind him.

_Soon it will all be over. _

When Tate got home from school, 5 hours of which he couldn't even recall now, he was surprised to see his mother sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. She was smoking a cigarette and there was amber liquid in a crystal glass by her left hand. Addie was sitting a seat away from her, snacking on something.

"Oh Tate honey, you're home," Constance said, taking a drag and exhaling in a long, thin stream that floated to the ceiling.

"Hi, Tate!" Addie said with her mouth full, beaming at him.

Tate smiled back at her and turned to his mother, unsure of what mood his she was in. She was unpredictable and sometimes violent towards him and he didn't have the energy for a confrontation right now. Anything could put her into a rage and he had inherited her temper.

"We have some new neighbors across the street. Adelaide took the liberty of breaking and entering into their house this afternoon so I could be introduced."

Constance seemed to expect a reply so Tate merely said, "Yeah?" He kicked off his shoes by the door and went to the refrigerator, selected a soda at random, snapped the can open, and took a sip. It was orange soda, which, incidentally he hated and Addie loved so he went and set it down in front of her.

Addie made a garbled sound of glee and swept the can up, chugging happily.

"Now Addie, that's all the sugar for you today, you know how quickly that stuff sticks to your ass," Constance said casually, her vicious words thinly veiled by her tone and Tate saw Addie pause in her gulping, glare, and continue to drink. Constance continued, "Anyway, Tate, Mr. Harmon, the man of that house, is a psychologist and sees patients there. I called about an hour ago and set up an appointment with him, for you after school tomorrow."

Tate's anger flared at her words, at her audacity. She couldn't just send him to see some hack that runs his business out of his living room. None of the other doctors he had seen had done anything for him, they had all politely, but forcefully, informed Mrs. Langdon that they, "Simply could not treat Tate any longer." They were all fakes, attempting to apply DSM cookie cutter theories to him and always surprised when he reacted by coming up with the sickest things he could think of and weaving tales of perversions so grotesque that they ran screaming for the hills. It wasn't hard to scare off these LA bloodsuckers, they were used to the tedious, "Oh I'm too fat so I'm just going to barf my brains out forever and get really, super skinny," bitches or, "My wife is cheating on me I have a limp dick," assholes. Tate was a whole 'nother animal to them.

"Mother, I will not be attending that appointment. If that is okay with you of course," Tate said through gritted teeth, struggling to maintain his composure.

Constance pretended not to hear him. She sat up straighter and took a sip from her glass, the ice tinkling against the crystal. "Your appointment is at 3pm sharp," she said and walked out of the room. Tate knew he didn't have a choice. That she would know if he didn't go, and what would happen when she did. Tate sighed, gave Addie one last smile and thundered up to his bedroom, slamming the door loudly and engaging the two locks he had installed himself. He plugged his iPod into its dock and began blaring a particularly angry Nirvana song as loud as his ears could handle.

"I'll show _Doctor Harmon_ just how troubled I am," Tate said to himself, smiling at his own sinister reflection in the mirror, "Then you'll be sorry for sending me to him, Mother."

**A/N: What do you think? For clarification, I am having Tate be older than Addie in this story, it works better for my purposes. As always, I hope you liked it, let me know by sending me lots of lovely, reviews! They inspire me. A Violet chapter will be posted next. They're getting closer to meeting, yay! **


	4. Chapter 4: Violet

**A/N: Welcome back! How about that new season of AHS huh? Pretty twisty and turney (yes that is a word in my dictionary). It still doesn't compare to season 1 though. Plus, they FINALLY put AHS on Netflix. Don't know what took them so long but it makes writing these episode-related scenes much easier for little ole me. Thank you to luna, jandjsalmon, and Sarah V for your reviews! They mean so much to me :] Ok, ok I'll quit rambling and let you get on with this Violet chapter, its super long for your enjoyment. **

The high pitched, repetitive shriek of Violet's alarm clock startled her. She had been awake for several hours already, reading manga from one of the many unpacked boxes that littered the floor of her bedroom. She slammed the off button and sighed. Today was the first day at her new school and attending was just about the last thing in the world that she wanted to do. She wasn't afraid, or even nervous, just annoyed. She would be the _new _ girl and that would entail tracking down her classrooms, figuring out everything that she had missed so far (she was starting in the middle of fall trimester), and, no doubt, being put in her place by the mean girls that ruled every school.

When the realtor with the terrible fashion sense and a palpable air of desperation had let them into the house on the first day, Violet was just as disappointed by the interior of the house as the exterior. Her father was _way_ too enthusiastic about the place and she could tell her mother was both disappointed and reluctant to share in his exuberance. It had not gone unnoticed to Violet that there were two other houses on the street with 'for sale' signs posted out front, both on each side of the creepy place across the street and both represented by their realtor. This neighborhood was obviously on the decline.

"Do you cook?" the realtor asked her parents as they entered the kitchen.

"Viv is a great cook," Violet's dad, Ben, responded, taking off his hat, "I got her cooking lessons a few years ago and she ended up teaching the teacher a few things."

Violet rolled her eyes behind him. He was so transparent, trying to show off what a great husband he was, flattering her mother when all of them knew it was a bit too late for all of that.

"Cooking lessons!" the realtor responded, "How romantic!" The fake enthusiasm was obvious in her voice. The conversation continued, something about her dad being a psychiatrist - that he was planning on seeing patients in the house. Violet was none too thrilled about this little detail, the last thing she needed was a bunch of pathetic crazies loose in her house. Suddenly the annoying bark of the dog her mom had let loose rang through the house.

"Violet honey, would you go see where Halle went?" Violet's mom, Vivien asked her. Violet responded with an eye roll but did as she was asked and trudged down a hall toward the dog.

"What _are_ you yapping at?" She asked impatiently when she finally tracked Halle down by a side door. When she bent down to pick up the dog, she jumped when something moved behind the frosted glass of the door. Violet quickly went to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open, revealing part of the yard, and nothing else.

_This whole lack of sleep thing must finally be getting to me. _Violet thought, picked up Halle, and returned to her parents. She just caught the tail end of the conversation where the realtor was reluctantly telling her parents that, while the previous owners were eager to sell the house, they had made it part of the contract that she must disclose the reason why they were moving.

"They were always an odd couple," The realtor was saying, too casually, "I thought so from the beginning. However, they insisted that I inform you about the neighbors." Violet put the dog down and leaned against the door frame, arms crossed.

"Oh? Which neighbors?" Vivien asked.

"You probably noticed that _gorgeous_ 1920's mansion across the street?" The realtor asked, gesturing in its general direction, "Well there have been various complaints over the past year or so, noise complaints and such. Nothing to worry about of course, just your average domestic disturbances I suppose." All three pairs of Harmon eyebrows rose at this as she continued, "And you will probably notice one of those LA tourist trap tours come by every now and again, the house has a bit of a reputation, but its all ancient history, I assure you. Nothing to worry about at all!"

"What sort of reputation?" Violet chimed in from the doorway and the realtor swung around, apparently startled by Violet's presence.

"Well, dear, it has been nicknamed The Murder House," the realtor said, chuckling nervously, "Completely ridiculous I assure you, ancient history."

A small thrill ran down Violet's spine at this. She loved creepy, messed up shit.

"We'll take it."

The next two days had been spent unpacking the house. They had sold a lot of the furniture and miscellaneous things before the move and were having slight difficulty filling up this house. Her mother had thrown herself in to unpacking and rearranging with a fervor that reflected how stressed out she was. She and Violet were- had been- close enough that Violet could sense her mother's agitation and tell what was really going on. Violet heard her unpacking things in various rooms of the house at all hours of the night. Part of Violet wanted to go to her, to offer some sort of comfort, but another part thought that it was her mother who should be comforting _her._ Violet hadn't been the one who wanted to move, it had been her parents. They had brought it upon themselves and dragged her along for the ride.

The only interesting thing about any of this was the house across the street. Violet had done some research online and found that there were a lot of rumors about the place being haunted.

_It certainly looks the part_, she thought sardonically, gazing out at it from her bedroom window. The view from her room was taken up entirely by that place and she often found herself staring at it, curious, just as she was doing now, putting off the inevitable day of hell ahead of her.

Violet slipped off the tee-shirt she wore to bed and pulled on a light brown, long sleeved thermal top over her bra and a dark grey sweater over that. She always wore long sleeves, to hide the scars and fresh cuts she had inflicted upon herself at various points throughout her life. It was her solace. Something about the blood…

She slid on plum colored tights and a coral colored lace dress that fell mid-thigh. Not wanting to deal with her hair, she plopped a dark olive green hat on her head, grabbed her messenger bag and walked slowly down to the kitchen. Her mother was waiting with breakfast ready, pancakes from the smell of it. Violet's stomach churned, she hadn't eaten breakfast in a year. She thought her mother knew that.

"Good morning, Violet!" Vivien said, a too-bright smile upon her face as she set a plate down in front of her. Steam wafted up from the golden cakes and Violet eyed them distastefully.

"Morning Violet," her dad said as he entered the room, giving her mother an unwelcome peck on the cheek as he passed her to go to the coffee pot.

"Morning," Violet mumbled, ignoring the pancakes and, instead, grabbed the mug her dad had grabbed for himself and filled it with hot coffee. Her father pretended not to notice and selected another mug for himself.

"So, first day at your new school! That's exciting," he said brightly and Violet rolled her eyes.

"Just keep your head up and smile honey," her mother said, knowing Violet better than to think that going to a new school would be exciting for her. Violet took a long drink of coffee, embracing the scalding, bitter liquid as it slid down her throat. She wished then that she had allowed herself enough time to break out the razors she kept hidden beneath her mattress. Today was going to be too much.

"Yeah, will do," Violet said, put the coffee cup down and headed for the door. "See you guys later, thanks for the pancakes, mom." She added, feeling slightly guilty about being so sullen when they were trying so hard. Too hard.

They lived close enough to the school that Violet could walk and she set her pace at the slowest she could manage and still be on time to her first class. Violet hated being late to school, it called too much attention to her and all she wanted to do was get through this day as unnoticed as possible. When she was out of sight of the house she pulled a cigarette out of the pack and lit it, savoring the first smoke of the day. The weather was pleasant, not too hot yet, but she supposed that every day began like this and ended up sweltering.

Step, inhale, step, exhale.

Violet could see a blonde boy hunched over, walking fast ahead of her and wondered if it was her new neighbor, the one she had seen in the window. Again she wondered how it felt to live in a house that was probably haunted, a house called Murder House. She envied him a little bit and fantasized about befriending him, being asked to come over and see what there was to see.

_Don't be stupid_. She chided herself and then caught sight of the school. It looked like something out of a crappy teen television show. There was no shortage of kids climbing out of expensive cards, wearing their designer clothes chatting with their friends who looked exactly like themselves.

Violet walked into the student courtyard, consciously keeping her eyes straight ahead, not making eye contact with anyone. Everybody seemed to be minding their own business until she passed a group of three girls talking animatedly about coke and numb nipples.

"Hey!" one of them yelled and approached her, a girl with long dark hair and a leopard print sweater, "Student council passed a rule against smoking in public spaces!" She strode over quickly and placed herself much too close to Violet's face followed by two other clones of the first.

"Second hand smoke kills," one of them said sassily.

Although Violet's hackles were up, she didn't want to start her first day of school in a fight so she made a semblance of an apology, "I'm new - I didn't know." Violet dropped the cigarette to the ground and went to stamp it out with the toe of her shoe.

The first girl, the ringleader Violet had decided, looked down in disgust and cried, "What the hell is wrong with you?" She bent down and picked up the butt, shoving in Violet's face, "People sit here? They eat here!" Violet saw that the minions were smirking behind the ringleader and felt the anger fill her.

"You don't know me," she said indignantly, "Why are you doing this?"

"Leah's grandmother _died_ of lung cancer?" the vocal minion chimed in, "She takes this stuff pretty seriously." _So the bitch has a name_. Violet thought and filed the information away for later.

"Eat it," Leah said, holding up the butt. Violet could see the cherry still burning. "Eat it or I'm going to kick the shit out of you."

_What the fuck? _Violet thought. This day was getting even worse than she had imagined, and these LA bitches even more psychotic.

"No," Violet replied.

"Come on, Leah, that's enough," the silent minion said, and reached for Leah's elbow to drag her away.

"What? No!" Leah protested, recoiling from her friend's hand, "No, no, I want to see her eat it." Suddenly she lashed out and wrapped her arm around Violet's neck, bringing the smoldering cigarette butt closer to her face. Violet let out an involuntary yelp and struggled with the tall brunette.

"Seriously, she's like, twelve!" Violet vaguely heard the vocal minion say, right before she launched a large spit wad at Leah's face.

She hit her target as Leah scrunched her eyes shut and backed away screaming. Violet took the opportunity for freedom. She turned on her heel and ran as Leah shrieked after her, "YOU ARE DEAD!"

Violet had a gleeful smile on her face as she turned back one last time, taking her hat off her head so it wouldn't blow away.

"YOU ARE DEAD!"

Violet disappeared into the crowd as the other students turned to find the source of the commotion. Leah had shrieked loud enough to _wake_ the dead. When she was sure she wasn't being followed, Violet slowed her pace and began walking again, placing her hat back onto her head. She was no stranger to fights, she had gotten into one or two back home but this girl was _insane_. Violet was still smiling to herself over her small victory as she entered the office to get her schedule. Right before she opened the office door she saw him.

Her new neighbor was at his locker about ten feet away from her. He was taller than she was, broad shouldered and fit, with a black sweatshirt on and converse. His long, messy blonde hair fell into his eyes as he rummaged through his backpack. He was _hot_. Violet didn't know why she was surprised that the Addams family house guy was attractive, but she was not about to let herself get caught checking him out. She wrenched open the office door and flew inside right as he was looking up.

Violet hurried home after the final bell, not wanting to end her day as she had begun it. Thankfully, the bitch, Leah, and her minions were nowhere to be seen and the walk home was uneventful.

When she entered the kitchen, Violet's dad greeted her as he was rummaging through some papers. "Hey honey, how was your first day?" He didn't look up.

"Fine," Violet mumbled and dropped her messenger bag on the floor by the door. She walked over the refrigerator and examined its contents. There was only a gallon of milk, a head of lettuce, and a block of cheese and Violet sighed as she slammed the door shut.

"Just fine?" Vivien inquired as she walked in from the formal dining room. She had obviously been working on taking down the hideous wallpaper as bits of it were sticking to her sweater and one was even in her hair.

"Yeah, just fine," Violet replied sullenly. This whole optimism thing was really getting on her nerves.

"Well, were the other kids nice? Did you make any friends?" Ben asked, finally looking up from his precious papers. Her parents looked at her expectantly and the encounter with Leah & co. flashed through her mind. She put on an obviously fake smile and retrieved her bag.

"Yeah, they were all _really_ welcoming, "she said sarcastically and started to walk out of the room.

"Well your father already has a patient," Vivien said, "Isn't that great?" Violet paused at the doorway, turning to face her parents. She didn't say anything, only raised her eyebrows. She knew they were expecting her to congratulate her father, they were standing there with such hopeful looks on their faces and Violet reluctantly gave in.

"Congrats, Dad," Violet said with a genuine a smile as she could muster and headed up to her room, closing and locking the door behind her. She sighed, dropped her bag with a thud, toed off her shoes and walked over to the window seat. She sunk down onto the cushion, drawing her knees up and leaned her forehead against the cool glass.

Today had been one shitty day and, she suspected, it was just the beginning. Violet watched as a couple of cars drove by and then she spotted _him_ walking down the sidewalk, head down, hands shoved deep in pockets. He glanced across the street but didn't seem to spot her before he opened and shut the gate and entered his home.

_Who are you?_ She wondered. Rolling her eyes at herself, Violet got up, put her iPod in its dock, and set it to shuffle on her Morrissey playlist, as loud as she could have it without her parents banging her door down. She reached under her mattress and grabbed the towel that was wrapped around her razor blades. Selecting a new one, Violet laid the towel across her lap, old bloodstains vaguely evident on its dark blue surface. She shoved her sleeve up and carefully pressed the blade against her skin, sliding it along in a straight line.

The pain was welcome; she could feel her anger melt away as blood welled along the horizontal mark, another scar to add to her collection. Violet leaned back against her pillows, holding her arm up and disjointedly watched as blood slowly trickled down her forearm. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the haunting, melancholy strains of Morrissey and her own thoughts.

**A/N: Well, what did you think? The next chapter will have them **_**finally**_** (FINALLY) meeting. Please review, a couple seconds out of your day makes my entire day and inspires me. **


	5. Chapter 5: Tate

**A/N: Hello! I feel badly that I didn't update on Sunday like I usually do but I had the most horrible weekend and wasn't feeling very inspired. However, I made myself sit down today after work and type this puppy up and it ended up being longer than I expected. Thank you SO MUCH to asdf, flowersforalgernon, Sarah v, Trish, Renarde, sinkorswim13, ch0sen0ne, liv, Annelise Schneider, and an anonymous guest for your wonderful reviews. You inspire me! **

He was walking down the hallways, calm, cool, totally collected. Some part of him thought that he should be scared. Excited even, but he felt nothing. He knew what was going to happen, and that nobody could stop him. After two years of fantasies, preparation, nightmares, he was going to do it. The large army coat he had donned before school hid his artillery. The shotgun under his right arm - the 1911 .45 handgun tucked into his waistband. He could feel the steel against the skin of his hip, cold and solid. Comforting. His boots made heavy footfalls on the floor of the crowded hallway. Students dodged out of his way, some of them frightened, some indignant as he continued his steady, unbroken pace. Soon it would be over. Soon he could be out of his misery. To sleep at last. He spots someone from his English class. He can't recall the boy's name but he was nice. Smart. Hell, the kid had even asked him to be his partner for some inane activity the teacher had devised one time. Nobody asked to be his partner anymore. He knew the time was right, but this person shouldn't be the first to be saved. If he started out here he would probably be stopped quickly. He had to pick the place carefully. He watches as the boy enters a classroom. He waits until the bell rings. He reaches with his right hand, over to his left side and slides his hand over the textured grip of the handgun. He releases the safety, draws the hammer back. Despite his own feeling of calm his heart began pounding. Cold sweat beads along his hairline, the nape of his neck, the palm of his hand. No going back after this. He was ready. He slowly draws the gun out from under his coat. A girl notices first, screams, but not before he aims and-

Heavy metal screamed out of his clock radio and Tate sat up straight in bed. Sweat was clinging to his naked chest and back, plastering his long blonde hair to his forehead. His heart was pounding and his breathing was ragged and uneven. The dreams were getting more vivid, more realistic. He glanced at his alarm clock and pounded the 'off' button with his fist, dragging his other hand through his hair. He was slightly surprised that he had slept at all. He didn't remember falling asleep. He had been awake for hours. He had tried sketching, sometimes that made the long hours of night pass by faster but when he looked at what he had drawn he had shuddered and shoved the images into a drawer of his desk. After that he had lain awake for hours, listening to music, transfixed by the images in his head.

Scenarios played themselves out in his imagination on an endless loop and he saw a myriad of people die in a myriad of ways. Tate didn't want to see these things. He remembered how it was before it all began, what it was like to dream about nice or even comically ridiculous things. What it was like to draw anything besides gore and horror. What it was like to laugh. God, it had been so long since he had laughed. Those days were over though. His life had never been easy, his mother had made sure of that, but it had never been a wretched existence until two years ago when the dreams started. Then the waking dreams...hallucinations. Then the voices. Now his life was a nonstop rollercoaster of nightmares and emotions. He flipped from murderous hate to devastating sadness to being completely numb at any given moment.

_Maybe seeing a shrink is a good idea._ He thought before dismissing the notion immediately. Anything his mother thought was right was bound to be the opposite. Tate flipped the covers back and swung out of bed. He stretched, feeling the bones of his back crack all the way up as he did so. Wandering over in his boxers to his desk he dug his brown vial of coke out of the drawer and swore when he saw that it was empty. He would have to go get more and he didn't have time before school. What a pain in the ass. Tate strode over to his door, unlocked and opened it, and made his way down the hall to the bathroom. He locked that door behind him and turned the shower on as hot as he could stand it. While waiting for the water to heat up he went to the mirror and gazed at his reflection.

He looked like shit. There were deep, dark circles hanging from a set of eyes that, quite frankly, belonged to a mad man in an asylum. His hair was sticking out every which way and, he noticed, he had scratched himself in his sleep again. There were long red welts across his chest and shoulders. Unable to resist the temptation, Tate opened the cupboard under the sink and peeled off the small package he kept taped to the top of the cupboard. He unwrapped it to reveal a set of razor blades. Tate picked out the oldest, dullest blade and eyed it. This would do. The initial pain made him involuntarily grit his teeth but soon the pain turned to soothing numbness that spread throughout his body. It was then that he remembered the appointment that his mother had set up for him for that afternoon. He dug a little harder into his skin, extended the mark out farther than he normally would. He'd have to remember not to roll up his sleeves today. No sense in giving the shrink something _real_ to talk about.

Normally eager for the school day to be over, today couldn't go by slow enough for Tate. He would barely have time to get his coke before going across the street to the good doctor's house for his hour of true hell. Then again, fucking with the shrink could be fun. Something different. It had been awhile since he had, had an actual conversation with anybody. In fact, he couldn't really remember the last time he had talked to someone about anything for more than a minute. Up until then he had all but forgotten the girl that had arrived with the doctor and his wife. The one who had stared at his house, and then at him. That had been a strange moment. Maybe he'd get a closer look at her today. Certainly wouldn't hurt to scope out the house to see what kind of pills the doc kept. Shrinks always had the good stuff stashed away for themselves.

The final bell rang, and Tate snapped out of a daze he didn't know he had fallen into. Another day gone without him living it. Amidst the scurry of students fleeing the classroom, Tate took his time, putting the single notebook he had pulled out in his bag and silently exits the now empty classroom. His dealer lived a couple of blocks out of his way home but he picked up the pace and after twenty minutes and a swift transaction with hardly a word spoken he was walking out the door. He passed by Leah on the porch, registering her glare and returning it. What a bitch.

Tate had fifteen minutes before he was due to be across the street so he ran up the stairs of his seemingly empty house and tested out his new stuff. The welcome burn of the cocaine as it flew up his nostrils at once dulled and heightened his emotions. He found that he was actually looking forward to the appointment. He felt…optimistic? No way. Shrinks were there for you to your most fucked up thoughts to, right? Maybe he would prescribe something good. Something that would help him sleep. Or at least end the nightmares.

Doubtful.

Tate checked his nostrils to make sure there was no telltale white residue, put eye drops in his eyes to reduce the redness, scrubbed a hand through his unruly hair and headed out. He passed his mother on the way through the kitchen. She had a cigarette between her fingers, as usual, and gave him a look that was probably supposed to convey something meaningful – or threatening, but Tate hardly registered it at all. The day was hot, and Tate momentarily wished he could wear a tee-shirt instead of the baggy green striped sweater he had donned this morning. But then the marks would show. He couldn't have that.

Tate walked slowly across the deserted street and up the stairs of the Harmon house. Taking a deep breath to settle his pounding heart – damn coke – he pushed the doorbell. He heard footsteps approaching the door then it opened. The guy he had seen from his window, thankfully _sans_ hipster hat, smiled and pushed open the screen door, beckoning Tate in.

"You must be Tate, welcome. I'm Doctor Harmon," he said and closed the door behind them. He stretched out his hand to shake and Tate reluctantly pulled his hand from the pocket of his jeans and shook it. _Doctor_ Harmon had a weak handshake, he noted with slight smugness.

"Yeah, hey, Tate Langdon," he mumbled, swiftly retrieving his hand. Doctor Harmon was probably in his early 40's, not a bad looking guy, with short, dark hair, and a confident smile. He looked like he worked out or something.

"Well it's good to meet you Tate," Doctor Harmon said with an overly friendly smile, "Come on back to my office." He turned and led the way down the hall, disappearing into a room to the left. Tate paused, and then followed, taking in the house as he went. A flight of stairs to the right of the hallway led to the second story and there were two rooms to either side of the front door. The decorations were sparse, they were clearly still unpacking, but some generic paintings hung on the walls and there were a couple of potted plants in view. A small dog came running up to check him out. It stopped short two feet away from him and began to growl. Tate made a halfhearted move to lunge at it and the tiny creature started, then raced through the door to the left. Tate smiled in grim satisfaction at the beast's reaction and then went to the room that Doctor Harmon had entered.

The office was more furnished than the rest of the house that Tate had seen. There were bookshelves crammed with literature and trinkets. A large desk stood in front of the only window and Doctor Harmon was taking a seat in a chair that stood across from a dark leather couch. A coffee table separated the two.

"Would you like anything to drink?" Doctor Harmon offered and Tate shook his head silently. He took a seat on the couch and unconsciously drew his feet up, tucking them to the side. They were silent for a moment and Tate looked around the room, at the floor, anywhere but at the man across from him.

"Your mother briefed me on what's going on with you, she didn't tell me much, just the basics. Fantasies about harming your classmates," Doctor Harmon began abruptly. He wasn't a man to mince words, Tate gathered.

_Of course she did_, Tate thought bitterly. He hadn't told his mother of the dreams, not after the first one when she all but laughed at him. But sometimes he screamed or yelled and woke up the whole house. It had become an annoyance to her, thus, the shrink. Tate was about to reply when the dog could be heard yapping outside the room. Doctor Harmon gave Tate an apologetic look and got up to close the door.

"Sorry, my wife's dog," he said by way of explanation. Tate just gave a short nod. Doctor Harmon resumed his seat, rolling a pen between the fingers of his right hand.

"So Tate," he began, "These fantasies started…two years ago? Three years ago? When?"

"Two years ago," Tate surprised himself by replying. He had his sleeves pulled most of the way over his hands and was picking at a hole in the knee of his jeans. He didn't know when he decided he would do it, but somehow he decided to be truthful with Doctor Harmon. The doctor jotted something down in -the notebook on his lap. "It always the same – it…starts the same way," Tate continued.

"How? Tell me."

Tate lifts his head, meets the doctor's eyes, "I prepare for the noble war…" He has had the dream so many times it begins to play in his head like a movie. "I'm calm, I know the secret, I know what's coming and I know no one can stop me…including myself."

"Do you target people that have been mean to you or unkind?" Doctor Harmon asks.

"I kill people I like," Tate responds and is slightly satisfied to see a small widening of the doctor's eyes. "Some of them beg for their life," he mumbles, half of his mind still in his fantasy. "I don't feel sad, I don't feel anything. It's a filthy world we live in. It's a filthy goddamn helpless world and honestly I feel like I'm helping to take them away from the shit and the piss and the _vomit_ that run in the streets. I'm helping to take them somewhere clean and kind." Tate is surprised that he is saying all of this but he can't stop himself, the words just keep coming, "There's something about all that blood, man. I drown in it. And the Indians believed that blood holds all the bad spirits and once a month in ceremonies they'd cut themselves to let the spirits go free. There's something smart about that, very smart I like that." Tate had read that in one of the many books he had buried himself in, in the school library. It had resonated with something within him and he had never forgotten it. Cold fear swept through Tate as he looked up to see…himself…behind Doctor Harmon. It was him with blood running down his face. He closed his eyes for a moment and suppressed a shudder, he hated those hallucinations. It was gone when he opened his eyes.

Doctor Harmon was looking at Tate with an unreadable expression. _Here comes the part when he politely declines to see me again, _Tate thought, shaking himself out of his fear and he challengingly asked the question that he already knew the answer to, "Do you think I'm crazy?"

The doctor paused thoughtfully and surprised Tate by saying, "No." Nobody had ever answered that question in the negative before, they usually declined to respond, and Tate had no idea what to think. The doctor continued, "I think you're creative. I think you have a lot of pain you're not dealing with." Tate's momentary surprise and hope dimmed slightly at the generic phrase about suppressed pain. They all said that.

"My mother's probably worried about me, right?" Tate asked, not trying very hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"I'm sure she is."

"She's a cocksucker. I mean, literally, a cocksucker. She used to suck the guy off next door all the time. My dad found out…and he left. He left me alone with a cocksucker. Can you imagine? How sick is that?" The brief moment of understanding between the two of them was gone and Tate could feel the anger slowly filling him. It was never gone for long. At times like these he just couldn't hold his tongue. But it was true. His mother was a cocksucker and his dad was unforgivable for leaving him alone with her.

"I've heard a lot worse," Doctor Harmon said, probably trying to make Tate feel better. It didn't work but now Tate was curious.

"Cool! Can you tell me some?" he leaned forward in his seat, "I like stories."

"No," Doctor Harmon replied with a small smile, "I can't." _Bastard, _Tate thought, slightly disappointed that he hadn't gotten more of a rise out of the man. Suddenly the anger was being taken over by the sadness, it happened like this, one emotion replaced by another in a split second.

"The world is a filthy place," he restated, "It's a filthy goddamn horror show." Emotion was making it hard for him to get his words out. His throat felt tight. What was happening to him? This Doctor Harmon was making him act ridiculous. Was making him _honest_. He continued, "There's so much pain, you know? There's so much…"

Tate decided that he was done then. It was enough that he had told the doctor all about his dream but to then almost _cry_ in front of him? The remaining half hour was spend unproductively, the Doctor seemed to sense that Tate didn't want to talk seriously anymore and they discussed superfluous things about his siblings, school – the works - for the rest of the time. They made an appointment for the end of the week and the doctor sent him off with a handshake and a smile. Tate had absolutely no idea what to think of this man.

Doctor Harmon indicated that Tate could let himself out and Tate left the room. He was not about to let the chance to snoop around slip by him so he opened and shut the front door without exiting. Glancing down each hallway to make sure nobody was around, he slipped silent up the stairs. He figured that the pills, if there were any, would be in the bathroom so he made his way down the hall. The first room he peeked into was empty. The second was not. The room was dark, it was a bedroom and judging by the decorations he knew it was the girl's room. There were heavy curtains over the windows and boxes everywhere. CD's littered the bed and there were clothes piled on the floor but the room was vacant.

Tate resisted the urge to look more closely at the room and continued down the hall on his quest. He saw white tile just inside a door and knew he had found the bathroom. The door was wide open but the room was not empty. The girl from the other day was standing in front of the sink. Her head was down and he could see her face in the mirror. She didn't notice him as he leaned against the doorframe, hands in pockets.

The appearance of dark spots on the rim of the sink caught his attention and he saw what she was doing. She slid a blade across the skin so pale it was translucent on inside of her wrist. Her face was blank, no grimace of pain, nothing. She was wearing a beige sweater about two times too big for her and her dirty blonde hair fell in a curtain on either side of her face.

He didn't know why he did it but suddenly he spoke up, "You're doing it wrong."

She paused in her cutting and looked up quickly, startled, meeting his gaze in the mirror, her face a mix of bewilderment…and something else. "If you're trying to kill yourself, cut vertically, they can't stitch that up." She was frozen for a moment and then turned around, fingers still holding the blade.

"H-how'd you get in here?" She asked fearfully, stumbling slightly over her words. She was cute, Tate noted, pretty, with dark, sad, haunted eyes that spoke to something inside of him he didn't know existed. She was like him, a kindred spirit.

Tate knew he should leave, that she could easily scream for one of her parents and all hell would break loose but he couldn't resist saying one final thing as he gripped the door handle and began pulling it closed, "If you're trying to kill yourself, you might also try lockin' the door." He smiled and shut the door all the way. He walked quickly on silent feel down the hall and down the stairs, giving her room one final glance. There was nobody around, not even the damn dog, and the front door opened and shut behind him without a sound. He wondered if she would follow him, if she would tell. Something told him she wouldn't.

Tate strode across the street, hands deep in his pockets and resisted the urge to look back to see if she was watching. He didn't stop his quick pace until he was safely behind his locked door. That girl…she was different. She was something new. He closed his eyes and saw her sad ones, saw her blood falling onto the white porcelain, so dark it was almost black. He fingered the cuts on his wrists, pressing until they stung. He had to see her again, get to know her. Maybe she would understand. Maybe she could help. Maybe he could help her. There was no doubt in his mind he would be attending his next appointment with Doctor Harmon. And then making one with her.

**A/N: So they finally meet! Sorry if this was a boring chapter, it was **_**really**_** long though (for me) and I wanted to continue the next appointment but I figured this was as good of a stopping point as I'd find and that I should get a Violet chapter in first. We want to see her reaction yes? And how he ends up in her room comparing scars? I have grand plans for this story so stick with me. Some yummy Violate action is in the works. Don't forget to jot down a few words in the little box below, your reviews make me so happy and I could use some cheering up. Maybe I'll even update before Sunday if I get enough of them ^_^**


	6. Chapter 6: Violet

**A/N: Hey guys, welcome back. Thank you to jandjsalmon (who convinced me to join a ff exchange that I am so excited for), Sarah v, Trish, CrazyLlama, tomieharley, Rhiannon T, and an anonymous guest for your reviews. I know I didn't post again like I said I might but reviews were slow in coming this time and I was uninspired. However, I did sit my butt down today and got you these 8 pages, so I hope you enjoy and review. It's crazy how motivating reviews can be so for all of you "favoriters" and "followers" out there, humor me, drop me a line…pretty please? Okay so here is your Violet chapter, I loved writing it and I hope you love reading it ^_^**

The day passed in a haze for Violet, interrupted only by the shrill bell every fifty minutes. She had thought that getting caught up in her classes would be difficult but it turned out that her old school had been ahead of this one. She had read all of the books that her AP English teacher had assigned, some of them twice, she knew the periodic table that her chemistry class was attempting to memorize, and she had already studied the parts of American history that her AP history class was just beginning to tackle. Frankly, she was bored. Only two days into school and she was _bored._

Studying had always been one of her few escapes. She enjoyed challenging herself to achieve better grades, to learn more, faster. Instead of being a chore, homework gave her an excuse not to socialize with her peers or her parents and she had quickly advanced in school, joining all of the advanced classes and taking some from the grade above her own.

The way she saw it, the sooner she could absorb all that high school had to teacher her, the sooner she could go to college and begin a new life. Violet knew that college would be better…it had to be, right?

The final bell rang and she was out the door, joining the rest of the students in the stampede to escape the brick and mortar prison they were forced into for six hours a day. She observed as couples met up, at lockers or outside of classrooms, throwing themselves into one another's arms in the mad, insatiable need of hormones.

Violet had never had a boyfriend, never wanted one, really. Any of the boys her age that she had gotten to know had turned out to be idiots, jerks, losers, or some combination of the three. She had, had a short-lived flirtation with an older guy who had worked at a café that she frequented in Boston, but that was over when she saw him with his beautiful girlfriend one time after his shift was over. Her first and only kiss was with a boy at a party that she had regretted going to.

She had taken some Vicodin and had, had a red keg cup of disgusting, cheap beer and when a mildly attractive, highly inebriated boy had come and sat next to her on the couch she had let him kiss her. His mouth was wet and warm and she hadn't enjoyed it as much as she had thought she would. She left when he started feeling up her non-existent chest, pausing only to vomit outside into a bush, and had returned home without her parents even knowing she had been gone.

She knew she wasn't beautiful, but she didn't think she was entirely repulsive either. She had high standards, yes, but was there really no one out there that could even scrape the bare minimum? She was sixteen years old and had only been kissed once by a boy who didn't know her name and whose name she never cared to know. That had been right before her father's affair had come to light and her depression had truly set in.

Why would she even want to have a relationship now that she saw how destructive and pointless they could be? Her father had taught her a valuable lesson that she would never, could never, forget.

Violet stepped out of the double doors and into the courtyard, momentarily blinded by the incessant sunshine. It was the beginning of October for shit's sake; couldn't the weather act like it?

She hiked her messenger bag higher on her shoulder and dug around for her cigarettes. She found them, selected one and put it between her lips, unlit. Head up, shoulders back, she defiantly walked through the throngs of people, taking care to pass right by Leah and her minions, who were seated in their regular place. They glared at her as she passed but said nothing since there was a group of teachers standing not far off. Violet grinned at them with the cigarette clenched between her teeth and left the school, pausing only to light the cigarette once she was out of sight of the teachers.

Challenging bitches was one thing; she didn't feel like having a run in with teachers. Violet turned onto her street, staying on the side of the road that the creepy house was on. She walked slowly, dragging on her cigarette, exhaling blue smoke into the thick air.

She paused right before the house's wrought iron fence began, wanting to get a look without appearing nosy. The place was as creepy as ever, especially now that she knew how many people had died in there. It hadn't just been that abortion doctor and his wife. She had also read about the sorority girl murder. How the psycho had dressed a girl in a nurse's costume, hogtied her, then stabbed her to death after drowning the house mother in the bathtub upstairs. The story had reminded her of the nurse murders of the 60's in Chicago. This one had happened around the same time but they couldn't pin it on the guy who murdered the girls in Chicago.

Violet started as the front door opened and a girl came outside. She could see from here that the girl obviously had Down Syndrome. She was dressed in a cardigan and a calf-length dress with a headband in her hair. She seemed to be talking animatedly to somebody that was not there. Curious, Violet took another step and suddenly the girl swung around, staring right at her. Violet snapped to action, continuing to walk as if she hadn't just been creepily spying on the girl and her house. She crossed the street, stamping out her cigarette on the yellow dashed median line.

Violet arrived home to a quiet house. There was a note from her mother on the kitchen counter that read:

_Violet,_

_I went out to try to find a local market that might carry some of the food we eat _

_and to pick up a couple of things for the house. Call me on my cell if you think of _

_anything in particular you would like. Don't forget, your father has a patient at 3 _

_So maybe keep the music down until he is finished? I hope you had a good day _

_at school_

_Love, Mom_

Violet rolled her eyes at the note and left it where it was. Not feeling like having a conversation with her father, she quietly slipped upstairs and shut the door of her room silently. Her boxes were still stacked around the room, pieces of clothing strewn helter skelter from her mad dash to get ready this morning. She had slept too late, caught up in a strange nightmare about kids with gunshot wounds chasing her down the street, and had barely made it to school on time.

She sighed as she kicked off her shoes and approached one of the many boxes of books. Her father had already assembled her desk and bookshelves made up of wire cubes, as well as her metal framed bed. Above her bookshelf there was a large, square chalkboard and lamps stood to either side of it. She opened one box and found the glass frames containing a large tarantula, a big, blue butterfly, and two more with identical giant moths inside. Violet dragged a chair over to her bookshelves and set the four frames on top, spacing them just so.

She then emptied the rest of the books from the box haphazardly onto the shelves. She stacked knickknacks on her desk, and found the large desktop antique gumball machine and various baby doll parts that she displayed in there and put it on a random side table by her bed.

Despite how lame it was, Violet liked the color that was her namesake and it showed in her bedspread, the heavy drapes over the windows, and the round leather seat at the foot of her bed. Violet found the poster of the stylized skull on a black backdrop that she loved and pinned it to the left of her bed.

She extracted the pieces of, and assembled a model Ferris wheel that her grandmother had given her as a child and set it on a windowsill. She also found a weird dollhouse that she had purchased at a flea market in Boston and had decorated with creepy odds and ends. That went to live on another window sill. She shoved a coffee colored leather couch into a corner, not caring that its legs made a terrible noise across the hardwood floor.

Ripping open another box, Violet extracted a handful of studded leather belts and draped them over another lamp. She then pulled her two rugs out from the plastic wrap they had been stored in and rolled them down in the center of the room.

Now, her clothes remained and she hung her dresses and sweaters up neatly in her closet. There were a few more boxes full of random crap but she was tired from unpacking and grabbed a book off of the shelf to read. Since she could practically do her homework in her sleep, she would leave that for the inevitable hours of wakefulness that awaited her tonight.

Her father's patient would be arriving any moment now and, sure enough there was a quiet knock on the door not much later. She was sprawled across her bed, trying to read the book but was having a hard time concentrating. She wanted to have her music on, but for some reason respected her father's peace and quiet for his session. Idly, she wondered who the patient was and how her father had found them so quickly. Violet let out a heavy sigh and sat up, going to her window seat.

If it were possible she was even lonelier here than she had been in Boston. At least in Boston she had acquaintances that she could go hang out with when her parents became unbearable. Here, she was on her own. Her sleeve slipped down and she caught the sight of an angry red line out of the corner of her eye. She had quite a few, four permanent scars, and two newish ones that she kept opening up. Every now and then she would revisit one of her old ones, slicing away the scar tissue and letting the blood drown her sorrows. Her parents had never caught on to the fact that she did this to herself.

They had general policy of benign neglect. She had heard that only children were often smothered by their parents, spoiled or ruined by their attentions and expectations. Not her, though. Her parents were okay, they had never abused her or even grounded her, but they were basically selfish creatures. Before her dad's affair they had been very wrapped up in themselves and each other. Her mother had played the cello professionally, often going on weekend trips to perform all over the east coast. Her father was always teaching, or grading papers, or seeing patients, and, apparently screwing his students.

She had learned to get on by herself, learned to cook at an early age, do laundry. All of the things that parents should probably do for their young daughter. Violet didn't mind though. Not really. It was easy to complain about it or to feel sorry for herself but it was easier this way. Except when she needed them.

She wasn't about to go confide in either of them but it would be nice if they _noticed_. They seemed to take her sullen attitude, desire for seclusion, and smart mouth as the signs of a normal, healthy daughter. Normal she was not.

Her mother had thrown herself into the motherly role after the affair had come to light, but by that time it had been too little too late. They were close, yes, but Violet could never trust either of her parents, not fully.

Violet poked at the scab of one of her fresh cuts and the desire to fully open it again overwhelmed her. Sometimes the need was too much to resist. The blades called to her, promising gorgeous numbness and a distraction from her inner pain. She always felt better after cutting. Her parents weren't getting along, she was lonely, and, besides, it's not like she had anything better to do right now.

Violet rose from her cramped position on the window seat, grimacing as she realized her left leg was asleep. The pins and needles that ran up her foot from her leg were painful but she kept stamping the foot down, shaking life into the limb.

Violet opened her door and listened for sounds of her mother or father. It was about 3:45pm and her father's session wouldn't be over for another fifteen minutes at least. More than enough time. She padded, barefooted, to the bathroom down the hall, not bothering to shut the door behind her. One of these days maybe her parents would walk in on her. Then they'd be sorry.

Violet took her father's shaving kit and extracted one of his new blades. She always liked to use a new one, they were cleaner, less chance of infection, and slid through her skin better. She looked up and met her own gaze in the mirror.

Her dirty blonde hair fell on either side of her face in a flat sheet. _Boring_ she thought. Boring hair, boring face, boring body. No wonder no interesting guys, if there even _were_ any interesting guys out there, had ever pursued her. It's not like she had a shining personality to make up for her appearance. Yes, she was different, but not in the cute and quirky way that worked so well for some girls.

Looking away from her face in mild disgust, she turned back to the task at hand. She started with the one that she had cut yesterday, still fresh, with a soft red scab covering it. The blade slid along her skin easily and large drops of blood trailed down the side of her arm and onto the pristine white sink. One wasn't enough today. She moved to a fresh patch of skin, carefully tracing a parallel line to the previous one before digging in for real. Her mind was beautifully blank, so blank that she didn't hear the footsteps coming down the hall, didn't hear them stop right behind her until it was too late.

"You're doing it wrong," a young, male voice pierced the air and caused her to dig a little harder than she normally would. Eyes wide, she snapped her head up and met the gaze of the person behind the voice in the mirror.

It was _him_. Her neighbor. The boy from the window. Cold horror settled in her stomach and she was finding it hard to speak. He beat her to it. "If you're trying to kill yourself, cut vertically, they can't stitch that up."

Slowly Violet turned around to face him, still holding the blade between her fingers, still bleeding. She finally found her words and hated how weak they sounded when she stammered, "H-how'd you get in here?" She wasn't afraid, Violet didn't get afraid, but she was highly uncomfortable. Was _this_ her father's patient? What the hell was he doing up here, intruding upon her private moment. She knew she should have closed the door behind her. _Fucking idiot_ she cursed herself.

His eyes were dark, somewhat startling in his fair complexion. Dark and deep and…sad. She couldn't look away, couldn't think of what to do. She was embarrassed, but at the same time…not. Who was this person?

He grabbed the doorknob, eyes still locked with hers. He began to pull it closed and said, "If you're trying to kill yourself, you might also try lockin' the door." He flashed her a small smile before the door clicked shut and she could hear his quiet footsteps go down the hall and descend the stairs. She did not hear the front door close. Violet stood there in shock for a moment before coming back to herself. Hurriedly she washed off the blade and returned it to the kit. She grabbed toilet paper and scrubbed every sign of blood from the bathroom before flushing the evidence away. The water stung her cuts as she rinsed them off and she brought a wad of tissue with her when she scurried from the bathroom.

Would he tell her dad? Seriously, what the fuck was he doing upstairs in her house? Why did he react like that? _Condescending bastard_ she thought, but there was no venom behind the sentiment. He hadn't been standing there as if he were judging her. There had been no revulsion, not even shock, in his expression. She made it to her bedroom window just in time to see his front door close.

Her heart was still pounding and strange butterflies sprang up in her belly. She wanted to find out more, and the only way of doing that was to ask her father. Making sure that her cuts were no longer bleeding, she slid her sleeve down to cover them and went downstairs. Her father entered the kitchen at the same time as she did.

"Hey Vi, how was your day?" he asked, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.

"Fine, same ol' same ol'," she said, trying to put more cheer into her voice than she normally would. "How was your first LA patient?"

Ben cracked the lid of the bottle and took a long drink before answering. "It was good, real good, I think I can help this kid out," he said, optimistically. He wasn't going to give her the information that she wanted if she didn't pry it out of him so she grabbed one of the organic pears her mom liked and took a bite, taking a seat on a stool of the breakfast bar.

"Yeah? Is he our neighbor, I was reading on my windowsill and I saw somebody leave our house and go to that creepy one across the street." Her tone sounded too casual to her own ears but her father was as oblivious as ever. Probably just happy to have her talking to him.

"Yeah, it was. Can't tell you about our session of course, but he's a pretty messed up kid. Can't be easy growing up in a house with that reputation though," Ben said.

Violet wondered what her father would say about her if he ever got the chance to psychoanalyze her. _Probably give me up for adoption_ she said silently. She nodded to show that she had been listening and took another bite of her pear just as her mother came in through the back door.

"You would not _believe_ the traffic out there!" She exclaimed and Violet had to restrain an eye roll. Her little bout of espionage was ruined, and, excusing herself, she went upstairs to finish unpacking.

~One Week Later~

Violet's past week at school had been the most tedious of her life. Thankfully, she had, had no more run-ins with Leah, but that was just a matter of time. Every time she passed by Leah or saw her in the halls the bitch was glaring daggers at her. Girl really knew how to hold a grudge.

Violet had been keeping a sharp eye out for the neighbor boy but he was more elusive than she would have thought possible considering their close proximity one another. She had almost given up hope of seeing him, hope that she ridiculed herself for even harboring, when she found him in the library on Monday during her free period.

Violet loved the library because it was the one place that she could be alone. She found a seat in a corner of the common area and settled into one of the chairs. She had brought her own books from home, more manga and was cracking it open when somebody sat down five tables away from her, right in her line of sight. She had slumped over the table, her head rested on the crook of her arm, the other holding the book in front of her. She thought nothing of the movement but then she got a strange feeling and peeked up casually over the top of her book. Her heart leaped and picked up its rhythm.

It was the neighbor boy, of course. He had on a black sweatshirt, with the hood pulled up over his head, falling just above his eyes. He had a stack of books with him, library books, which he was looking over in an apparent selection process. Making up his mind, he picked out a book whose cover she couldn't make out and settled into a posture much like her own. She knew she should look away but she couldn't make her eyes drop back down to her book. He would catch her staring.

Too late, his dark eyes snapped up and met hers over the top of his book. His messy blonde hair was visible from under the hood and it fell perfectly over his dark gaze. She could only see his eyes and she was held by them, powerless to look away. Finally she shook herself out of their unofficial staring contest.

If he wanted to talk to her again, maybe _explain_ what he had been doing upstairs in her house, in her _bathroom_ then that was up to him. She wasn't about to play games…as enticing as games with him sounded. She went back to her book with newfound determination but every minute or so she found herself peeking at him over her book. He seemed to be absorbed with whatever he was reading but every so often she would catch him looking at her. When she turned back to her book, the pictures would blur in front of her eyes and she was angry with herself at her sweaty palms.

Since when was she nervous around guys? Especially peeping toms! However, nothing she told herself could quell the excitement that was building in her. She thought that he might come over to talk to her but suddenly the bell rang and she jumped. Had it really been an hour already? Hurriedly she packed up her stuff and made to flee the library, determined not to make eye contact with him again. She had to pass him as she went though, and couldn't help herself as her gaze fell to him in passing. He was staring at her with an intensity that made her stumble slightly. A small smile graced his lips and he raised one eyebrow at her.

Her eyes widened slightly and, despite herself she smiled back before she rushed by him and out of the library doors.

_What is the matter with me?_ She thought, and had no answers for herself.

Violet didn't see him on her walk home, thank god. She was embarrassed by her reaction to seeing him. Next time she saw him she would be ready. Ready to get some answers. Ready to act like a sixteen year old and not like a four year old afraid of cooties.

She had taken the long way home, smoking three cigarettes on the way so by the time she entered the house it was nearly 3pm.

"Oh Violet, it's you," her father said, rounding the corner. "I thought my patient might be a little early."

Violet groaned silently. Of course, today just had to be the day that the neighbor boy met with her father. Typical.

"Nope, just little old me," Violet said sarcastically and fled up the stairs, shutting her door firmly behind her. She turned her iPod on and selected Mirah, falling onto her bed with a _humph_. She wouldn't admit it to herself but she was listening intently for his arrival. Her heart leapt when there was a knock on the door. Quietly, Violet went to her own door and cracked it open.

"Hey, Tate, welcome," her father greeted him.

"So his name is Tate," Violet whispered to herself, tasting the name on her tongue. He replied and she couldn't hear what he said, but she did hear the two of them adjourn to her father's study. She left enough time that they would be settled in before she made her move. She crept out of her room and down the stairs, avoiding the places that she knew the boards would creak. That had been the first order of business when they had moved into the house, finding out how to move silently around it.

She could hear the murmur of her father and Tate coming from the study and carefully, oh so carefully, she approached the door. She stood with her back pressed against it and listened.

"Everybody can get better, Tate," her father was saying. "Everybody. I just think you're scared…of what I'm not sure yet, maybe…rejection certainly because of what your father did to you."

"I was afraid my big dick wouldn't work." Violet's eyes widened at his words and she had to stifle a laugh.

Her father chuckled incredulously as he asked, "What?"

"Yeah, that's why I didn't take the meds, I was afraid my dick wouldn't work," Tate said, laughing a little too. Violet couldn't help herself as she peeked around the edge of the door, which was ajar. Her father was standing over Tate who was seated. He wore a large yellow sweater with a white patterned button down under it. He was smiling at her father, laughing a little. That _smile…_

Tate continued, "…Because I met someone." With that his eyes met hers. She hadn't realized that he had known that she was there but she wasn't embarrassed about being caught spying. It was almost as if he had _wanted_ her to overhear. Violet remained where she was, gripping the doorway a little too hard. Was he talking about her? It sounded like it but…but he was _gorgeous_. Gorgeous guys didn't go for girls like her – unless they were messed up. Hadn't her dad said he was messed up? Sanity was overrated in her books. She certainly wasn't sane or normal.

Not breaking eye contact she retreated and went back up to her room. Something told her that he would be repeating last week's intrusion. This time it would be a welcome one.

**A/N: Yaaay! Now they get to know each other. I'm **_**so**_** excited to write the next chapters now. I had to take the time to establish their characters but I've just been dying to write their romantic relationship. I warn you, there will be fluff. Fluff and probably horror….but that's what we love, right? Review and let me know what you think! Once again, if I get enough reviews…maybe 10? I'll post the next chapter before next Sunday. I adore you all!**


	7. Chapter 7: Tate

**A/N: Hi guys! Welcome back. You all were so nice and wonderful so I'm here with another chapter for you all. Thank you so much to jandjsalmon, Trish, Sarah v, asdf, IDLETEEN (no need to pay, I do this for free :D), fanpire4000, threwthelookingglass, and an anonymous guest for your lovely reviews. Just a note, I forgot to include the part last Tate chapter where Ben prescribes the antidepressants to him so let's just pretend I addressed that mmk? I still can't believe I'm only technically on the first episode…this fic is going to be a long one! Oh and how do you like the new cover? I made it myself :D**

Tate eyed the yellow prescription bottle suspiciously. Doctor Harmon had called Tate's mother not long after Tate had returned home and informed her that he had prescribed Lexapro to her son. He must have figured (correctly) that Tate would resist taking medication. Constance, in a rare show of motherly concern, had immediately gone out to fill the prescription…and get another carton of cigarettes. His mother did nothing if it did not also benefit her.

Now Tate sat in his room, reading the warning labels on the side of the bottle, the little white pills rattling about as he turned the container over in his hands. The doctor could have at least given him something _fun. _He knew from personal experience that anti-depressants were not the recreational pills that he enjoyed.

Tate popped off the child-safe lid and picked one pill out, considering it briefly, before slipping it into an empty soda can in his garbage. Constance was also too nosy for her own good and he would never put it past her to count the pills in the bottle to make sure he was taking them.

He found that he was looking forward to the next session with Doctor Harmon. Never in a million years had Tate ever thought that he would _like_ seeing a shrink, but that man was different. His age probably had a little to do with it - most of Tate's past doctors had been old, or women. The women in particular were difficult for Tate to talk to. Probably because of his "mommy issues".

In a half-hour with Doctor Harmon he had told more than he had told any other person he had talked to, combined. He would have to watch himself. If he revealed all he would be thrown into a loony bin faster than you could say ghosts.

Over his music he could hear Addie wandering down the hall, talking to herself or one of her "friends". The house held many friends for his little sister. The only friends she would ever have besides him.

Feeling oddly at ease, Tate snorted a line of coke, as casually as one could do such a thing, grabbed a book off of his window sill, the play _A Doll's House_ and lost himself for the rest of the night in its pages.

The rest of the week went by in a blur, as all weeks did nowadays. He fought with his cocksucker mother. He exchanged biting words and veiled threats with Larry over the dinner table when he was made to attend family dinner. The only reason he ever did give in to his mother's demands regarding family dinner was Addie. He may be mostly checked out from this god-awful world but he still had a responsibility to his younger sister. Unfortunately for her, not much longer.

The voices were getting louder, too.

The night before - Sunday, he thinks it was - he had awoken in a place that was definitely not his bed. He was downstairs, dressed only in his boxers, standing over the lit stove. Judging by the pain in his hand he hadn't just been standing over it the flame, he had been touching it.

A twinge of fear lanced through his disoriented body. So now he was sleepwalking on top of the hallucinations, nightmares, and voices? He would have to do it soon. If he didn't do it himself, his subconscious would off him itself. This world did not want Tate Langdon, and he most certainly did not want this world.

Yet…what if the doctor had been right? What if all he needed were a few months of those little white pills and somebody to talk to? He snorted out loud at himself, the sound echoing around the empty kitchen. No, there was no hope for him. Never was, never will be.

With a final look, Tate turned off the stove and began walking back up to his room. It was 4:40 am. He would have to be up for school soon. He hardly remembered the weekend. The only time he had left his house was to take Addie to the park. That had happened…right?

The whispers were starting again, getting louder the more he focused on them. The voices in his head said terrible things, showed him horrible images - but he was used to them by now. They had been around as long as he could remember, although not always in such a sadistic manner. That development was relatively new.

Tate took one stair at a time and began walking down the upstairs hall to his room when he heard a thump and a chair rattle above him. He almost dismissed this as a norm. It was Beau of course, stirring about his attic room. His prison.

Tate stopped in his tracks. Beau was dead. Larry had _killed_ Beau.

He felt sick, staring up at the ceiling, following the quiet rumble of Beau's shackles with his eyes.

So the house had struck again. He should have known that Beau would fall to the same fate as the rest of them…those unfortunate souls who met their demise in this cursed house, unable to ever find peace or to escape.

He would make Larry pay.

Soon.

But not tonight. He was so tired. When was the last time that he had slept?

Tate listened to Beau's restless movements for a moment longer before returning to his room. He flopped upon his bed with a heavy sigh, throwing one arm across his face. He wanted to cry, to scream, but knew neither would make him feel any better.

He wasn't insane…wasn't delusional. Sometimes he had moments of such clarity that he wanted to run down to the police station and have them arrest him on the spot. Those moments never lasted long and were becoming fewer and farther between, but he still experienced them.

The voices began whispering to him again, conjuring images of exactly what a shotgun would do to a cheerleader's head at point-blank range. These were his bedtime stories.

But then…_she _broke into his fantasies. Her blood so red on that white sink. The fierce look in her eyes as she turned around to face him. The sadness in them before she knew he was there. She must go to Westfield. He tried to remember if he had seen her there this past week but, honestly, he didn't remember this past week. He would have to keep an eye out for her tomorrow. He would be in her house tomorrow afternoon, but there was always the chance that she could be out with friends or something. Girls made friends fast, didn't they?

The only females he really knew were his mother, his sister, and Nora. One made friends on her knees, one was only friends with ghosts, and Nora…

Well, Nora was Nora.

The next thing Tate knew the bell was ringing after his fourth class. He jumped, looking around with barely concealed surprise. So he was missing time now, too? He supposed he remembered saying goodbye to Addie this morning…but that was his last clear memory. There were bits and pieces of the last six hours but, for the most part, the day was a blur. He figured it was a sign of his impending insanity that he was able to dismiss this gap in his memory so easily. He also did not give a shit.

His free period was next and so he headed to the library, hiking his hood up farther over his head, weaving through the mindless sheep that were his peers.

Didn't they realize how pathetic they were? What pointless lives they lead? Soon…so soon, they would know just how precious life could be. Right before he snatched it away from them.

The library was his sanctuary. It was always so quiet and calm. None of the ridiculous assholes ever set foot in this place and the people that did always kept to themselves. The librarian was an okay guy - he mostly sat at his computer and told people to shut up if they were being too loud. Tate headed for the natural science section, selecting books at random and then stopped off at the poetry stack to retrieve the complete works of Byron.

Lost in his own thoughts, he picked out a seat at an empty table in the study area and settled in for an hour of peace.

He had come to notice that the voices were quieter outside of the house. They were still there, yes, but they weren't the ceaseless chatter that plagued him when he was at home. It seemed as soon as he set foot across the threshold they swarmed his head like angry bees, making up for lost time. He loved them and he hated them and would never be free until he carried out their demands, ending his miserable existence once and for all.

Tate examined his selection of books and cracked open a book that held detailed illustrations of birds. He wasn't in the mood to think, or to brood as Byron always made him do. Yes, pictures of birds would do nicely. He slumped down over the table, resting his head on his elbow and zoned out.

Just as he was turning the first page something caught Tate's eye from over the top of the book. He flicked his eyes up and shifted the book so he could see over the top of it.

It was _her_.

She was seated a few tables away from him with just her eyes visible over the top of a small book. Their dark eyes met. She had been staring at him, but how could he blame her after he practically accosted her in her own bathroom? _Her fault for not shutting the damn door_, he thought and a small smile came across his lips at the memory.

Would she talk to him? Their eyes remained locked on the other's, in an intense staring contest. Finally, she looked back down at her book and he was surprised at the disappointment that he felt. He watched for a moment longer as she tugged the sleeves of her maroon top higher on her arms, over the cuts, and he knew that she was thinking of their last encounter.

Tate _did_ want to talk to her, to get to know her. Maybe find out the reason she was so sad that she would slice her own skin open as he did. However, he figured he should let her make the first move. She could easily be freaked out and want nothing to do with him. So he looked back down at his birds, and attempted to clear his mind. But he couldn't

What was it about this girl? He hadn't even had a real conversation with her but already he felt such a connection. He had never felt connected to anyone in his entire life and so the feeling did not come lightly. Maybe it was because he had seen her at her most vulnerable? Because he had witnessed her weakest moment? Whatever it was, he couldn't keep his eyes off of her. The sunlight through the library's windows lit up the highlights in her untreated hair, creating a halo that he felt somewhat ironic.

His dark angel.

The same sunlight danced its way across the flawless skin of her cheek, casting shadows that only intensified the glances she gave him. Kept giving him. Their eyes met over and over again, and he imagined that they were each daring the other to breach this strange silence. He wouldn't give in, as much as he wanted to. It was _her_ move.

He hadn't even turned three pages when the bell rang, signaling that it was time for the last class of the day. Tate didn't move, he didn't mind being late to class, but he watched the girl carefully as she stood up quickly and thrust her book into her messenger bag. He knew the most direct path to the exit passed right by him and he waited to see what she would do next.

With a small note of satisfaction Tate realized that she was flustered. His satisfaction waned slightly when he realized it might just be because she was afraid of him.

He saw her hesitate and then make up her mind, walking quickly by the table that he was sitting at. Tate fixed her with the most direct stare that he could, looking her dead in the eyes and didn't miss it when she tripped a little bit over her own feet. He couldn't help himself, he smiled. What surprised him was when she smiled back.

She rushed by him, not looking his way again. Tate turned and watched every step of her speedy departure, the smile still upon his lips.

Tate made a quick pit-stop in the bathroom before starting his walk home. The last hour had not passed in the usual blur. He had been aware of every second ticking by on the clock mounted on the wall above his head. He replayed what had happened in the library over and over again, at times berating himself for not talking to her, at other times glad that he didn't.

The bathroom was empty and so he stepped into stall without bothering to lock it. He was stressed and needed his cure.

Tate knew he had a problem, but drugs were the only thing that could quell his hate. The only thing that could take away his sadness. With deft fingers he swiftly rolled a small joint out of the supplies he kept in a mint tin in his backpack. He slid his toungue along the glue like to seal it, and tucked it behind his ear, concealing it in his hair and hood. He exited the school feeling as on top of the world as he ever got these days. Which was probably a low day for most people. He had almost forgotten his appointment with Doctor Harmon at 3pm and picked up his pace slightly, unsure of how much time he had passed in the bathroom.

When he was off school grounds he lit the joint, burning the twisted paper tip and then sticking the unlit end between his lips, inhaling deeply. Almost immediately rare peace washed over him. Tate didn't smoke marijuana often, he usually preferred uppers like cocaine and even meth on occasion, but today seemed like a day to be high. If nothing else, weed absolutely helped him forget his problems, if even for an hour or so, and he needed all the distraction he could get.

Tate didn't realize that he was inadvertently following her until he noticed the figure rounding a corner ahead of him. He recognized the long, floral patterned dress that she had, had on over the long sleeved top. She definitely stood out in this land of fake tans and Gucci. He liked it.

Puffs of smoke periodically drifted from her form as she smoked one cigarette after another. He hadn't decided to follow her - that is, it wasn't a conscious decision, but he found himself reluctant to turn away and take the more direct way to his house. And so follow her he did, finishing his joint about the time she flicked her second cigarette onto the sidewalk. The smell of the smoke filled his nostrils the whole way and he felt as if he were inhaling a little bit of her with every breath. He relished the tiny connection, as imaginary as it may be, and it was easy to imagine that they were walking together rather than twenty feet apart.

No doubt she would be completely and utterly creeped out if she happened to turn around and see him but luckily for him she didn't. When they finally turned onto the street they both lived on he hung back, knowing what a stalker he must look like hiding behind a bush, but not caring. Instead of walking across the street to her house, she continued on the sidewalk that went by his house. His heartbeat quickened slightly when he saw her stop outside of his house, pausing just where the hedge would conceal her from anyone in the house itself.

She stood there for a little while, and then something suddenly made her straighten and resume walking across the street. Tate only began moving again when she had disappeared inside her house, covering the remaining ground to his own door quickly. Addie was outside, fondling a red ball, staring across the street and he figured his sister must have been what had startled the girl.

"Hey Addie, good day?" he asked, holding out his hands to catch the ball that she tossed his way.

"I guess so," she said, after considering the question. "Larry said this morning that he would take me to the movies on Friday." The happiness on her face stilled any angry remark he would have made on the subject of Larry, and instead he tossed the ball back, gave her a stiff smile, and went inside. Immediately he was hit by the voices whispering, taunting, suggesting. He ignored them as he always did.

The clock on the stove read 2:55 and, with a groan, Tate dropped his backpack on the floor and turned right back outside. Addie was now sitting on the porch, rolling the ball to a ginger kid in a striped shirt who gave Tate the finger before rolling the ball back to Addie.

Tate returned the gesture and walked across the street.

He really hated that kid.

Doctor Harmon answered the door with his usual placid smile, inviting Tate in and ushering him to his study. Tate took a seat on the same leather couch, swinging his legs up and spreading out, cushioning his head with his arm. The doctor followed, holding a small contraption in his hand. At first Tate thought it was a cellphone but he realized what it was when Harmon asked if he could tape the session.

_Evidence?_ Tate asked silently but instead said, "No." Harmon pressed the button.

"You taking your medications?" he asked as he sat down and Tate heard the noise as the recorder was set down on the coffee table between them.

_Hell no_.

"Yes," Tate lied casually, picking his fingernails.

"Any side effects?

Tate looked over at the tape recorder, "I was taking them at night but they kept me up." _Liar, liar, liar._

"And what'd you do?" Harmon asked. _What do you think?_

"Started taking them in the morning." That joint had done its job, he was relaxed and didn't much care about these stupid questions, lying with ease.

The doctor kept going, "Light sensitivity is pretty common." Tate wondered where he was headed with this. Why did the doctor care, as long as Tate was taking the meds?

"Maybe…yeah I think so," Tate responded casually, careful to keep his face blank and his eyes on a hangnail that was bothering him.

"When I was in medical school," Doctor Harmon began and Tate looked over at him, wondering where this was going. Maybe Harmon would tell him some messed up stories after all. "They brought in this CIA interrogator to help us better identify who was lying. This guy was like six foot fifty, crew cut, he must've been one hell of an interrogator because I tell you something I'd be _terrified_ to lie to him."

The implications of the doctor's story dawned on Tate and anger came over him. Not even weed could keep his rage down long. He stood up quickly and met Harmon's gaze.

"You think I'm lying to you?" he asked, challengingly, in the same tone that he used with his mother. The one that came just before the yelling began.

"Light sensitivity isn't a side effect of Lexapro, Tate."

_Oh, you son of a bitch. _Tate walked around the couch and took a seat in a rocking chair farther away from Doctor Harmon. He unconsciously began rocking back and forth.

"So you lied to me," he deduced, wondering at the slight twinge of betrayal he felt. Tate was used to being the most conniving, manipulative one in the room…that is, if his mother wasn't there. He found it very uncomfortable to realize that he had underestimated the doctor.

Harmon replied, "What is important that is if you're telling the truth about doing these things to your classmates. If you're actually a danger to society the law says that I have to report you to the police."

A small knot of fear settled itself in Tate's belly and he suddenly wished he hadn't smoked the entire joint, "Did you call them?"

"Not yet," Harmon rose from his chair, closing the distance between them and settling himself on the back of the leather couch that Tate had vacated. Tate watched him as he might a rabid dog. "I've treated psychotics before, and people with the right combinations of chemical imbalances and psychological damage… they can't be reached."

Tate was worried now - not because of the threat of police, but because it sounded like what every other doctor had said before they permanently dismissed him. Just a week ago Tate thought that he was a hopeless case, that he was too far gone to ever come back from the darkness that had surrounded him. In that week he had found something that he thought was lost forever. Hope. Maybe his fate wasn't sealed…but from the way the doctor was talking Tate was just being an idiot.

There was no recovery for him. In only two hours this stranger had seen what Tate knew in his heart to be true. Then why did he feel so…desperate?

Knowing what the answer would be, Tate reluctantly asked, "You think that's me? You think I can't get better?"

"You? You kidding me? You're hopeless."

For a split second Tate thought that Doctor Harmon was being serious but then he saw the twinkle of humor in his eye and they both chuckled. Tate tried hard to conceal the relief he felt but it came through in the genuine laughter he let out. So the doctor hadn't given up on him after all. He actually thought that Tate had a chance!

"Everybody can get better, Tate, everybody!" Harmon said, punctuating his words with clasped hands. His face sobered and Tate's laughter died as he listened to the doctor. "I just think you're scared, of what – I'm not sure yet. Maybe…rejection - certainly because of what your father did to you." This was getting a little deep for Tate at the moment. He had been pretty terrified a second ago and now he wasn't in the mood to be psychoanalyzed.

Movement caught his eye and he realized that the door was open. A scrap of familiar floral fabric was visible from the corner. How long had she been listening? Tate knew that he should probably be bothered by her spying on his shrink session…but he wasn't. Part of him was excited, thrilled even, that she found him interesting enough to eavesdrop on. From the small amount of time he had been able to observe her she didn't seem like the nosy type. Well, unless it involved him. He had caught her staring at his house on two occasions, hadn't he?

His nerves getting the better of him, Tate reverted to his usual crude self. He wanted to see if he could shock her, get a rise out of her at least. "I was afraid my big dick wouldn't work." Out of the corner of his eye he saw the rest of the girl materialize, peering around the corner. It was difficult not to look at her, but he kept his eyes fixed on the doctor.

Doctor Harmon laughed slightly in surprise, "What?"

"Yeah, That's why I didn't take the meds, I was afraid my dick wouldn't work." He laughed too, a little embarrassed at himself, but refusing to show it. If he hadn't succeeded in driving the girl off, he certainly had succeeded in surprising her father who had a stupid, fake smile on his face. Harmon wasn't the only person who could put people on their toes.

Tate continued, "…Because I met someone." With that he looked past her father and directly at her, meeting her eyes which had widened upon being discovered. She didn't flee though, didn't even move to conceal herself. He was getting a huge rush out of this little game they were playing and if he wasn't determined before to get to know her, he was now, more than ever.

He could see a pretty blush sweep across those perfect cheeks and he was glad that she had spied on them, glad that he had indirectly told her of his feelings. He couldn't just be imagining this connection he felt. There was…something different about this and he knew she felt it too.

She backed up, still holding his gaze before disappearing from view. He knew she was daring him to follow, to repeat the events of the week before and he knew he had no choice in the matter. He had a feeling he would have little choice in any matter regarding this fascinating girl.

The session was over pretty quickly after that - at least Tate thought so because he hardly remembered what he and the doctor had talked about. His mind was already upstairs with the doctor's daughter, playing out scene after scene of what would happen when he finally did go up there for real. They ended with the doctor encouraging Tate to take his medicine and Tate promising that he would. He was unsure if he would actually follow through with that promise but there was no time to think about that now, not when he had a date to keep.

Tate went through the steps just as he had last Monday. Exit room, open and close door, silently glide up staircase. His heart was racing with anticipation, cutting through the lingering haze of the weed. He wiped his palms on his pants and ran a hand through his hopelessly tousled hair. He stopped just outside of the closed door to her room. _Go in there, you asshole. She wanted you to follow her._

Tate took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he turned the doorknob, pushing the door open cautiously to reveal her dark room. A slow, sad melody was playing out of the iPod dock and she was seated on her bed, head resting on her knees. She had obviously been waiting for him and did not seem surprised at all that he had entered her room unannounced.

Wordlessly Tate entered the room fully and closed the door behind him, willing his heart to stop thudding. She continued to stare at him silently.

"Hello, I'm Tate," he said lamely, glad that his voice remained strong, and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. A sudden smile spread across her face as she responded with one word - and to him, she was beautiful.

"Violet."

**A/N: Aweee I love them together. I am aware that Tate's parts are kind of sappy, the way he thinks about Violet at least, but I always thought that he would have a sensitive, poetic soul underneath all that mad, murderous rage. I hope you like the way I am writing it because it is hard to find a balance between the obsession he has in the show and how he might have been whilst still alive. I, for one, love the fluff and love writing it! **

**All this typing has given me a mean craving for chocolate chip cookies. Anyone have any that they would like to bring over as my reward? I'll love you forever! **

**Anywho, you know what to do next! Let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions or requests I'd be happy to listen to them :D Adoration to all of you, my lovely readers.**


	8. Chapter 8: Violet

**A/N: Hi gang, welcome back! I know, I am awful for not updating sooner but I have been insanely busy with work and holiday stuff and have had no time to write. Thank you to Sarah v, jandjsalmon, Trish, MistressInk, Rock The Rain, IDLETEEN, Annelise Schneider, and an anonymous guest for your reviews. I promise I will be better about updating from here on out! I hope you enjoy this chapter, tloved writing it and I hope you all can picture the Tate smiles that I am trying to describe because they make my heart go all a pitter patter. The quote below if from a Morrissey song called **_**Let Me Kiss You**_**. If you haven't heard it you probably should go listen because it's beautiful and so full of feels. **

_There is a place in the sun  
For anyone who has the will to chase one  
I think I've found mine  
Yes, I do believe I have found mine_

Violet's heart was racing, sending blood pounding through her ears so loudly that she could barely hear the song that she had hastily set to 'play' on her iPod. She carefully arranged her dress for probably the fourth time since she had settled upon her bed. First it had been her couch, and then nonchalantly leaning by her desk, perched on the windowsill …Now, here she sat, head resting upon her knees, legs crossed at the ankle, eyes fixed upon the door, anxious as she had ever been.

Why was she so nervous? She was fearless wasn't she? But the look in his eye when he had caught her spying on him…

"_Because I met someone."_

A small shiver ran down her spine. She thought he had meant her…she wanted desperately for him to have meant her.

But how could he have? Would he even come up to her room?

"Stop being an idiot," she muttered to herself, stopping her hand from going once more for the folds of her dress. Violet eyed the clock and saw that the session must be over soon.

He would come. He had to come.

What would she say if he did? Oh god, what if he thought she was just some weird little kid?

Since when did she care what people thought? She mentally bullied herself into calming down, forcing the flutters in her stomach to stop. She was pretty good at this.

Just as they stopped, the motion of the door handle turning caught her eye and the butterflies exploded into life once more. The door slid open slowly, and he appeared, meeting her eyes immediately. He paused for a fraction of a second before silently gliding the rest of the way in. Without facing away from her he closed the door behind him and leaned against it slightly.

His hands were in his pockets and, under the intensity of his stare, she found herself smiling slightly for no reason.

"Hello, I'm Tate," he said, confident, cool. The ridiculousness of the situation did not escape her and neither him, it seemed. Violet wished she could feel as calm as he did but she put on her best brave face.

"Violet," she said simply and he let loose a big grin that lit up his entire face. He was _beautiful_. Were men beautiful? Maybe just this one.

Tate took a few steps into her room, looking around him and Violet felt that he was cataloging each and every one of her possessions, weighing them, judging her based on them. Her eyes darted around, looking for anything that might seem childish or embarrassing but no, everything was how she liked it.

Violet hadn't been a child for a very long time.

"Cool room," he said, continuing to walk around the perimeter of the space, picking up a knickknack or a book, looking it over, before replacing it just as he had found it. Violet gracefully unfolded herself from her position and stood up, walking over to the foot of the bed where she paused, looking at him.

"Thanks," she said, "I haven't unpacked everything yet." She nudged a box of random junk and cd's with her stocking clad foot and his gaze fell upon the collection.

"Can I?" he asked, gesturing towards the box and she slid it over to him. He settled himself upon the floor and began looking through the stuff. Violet sat down across from him, watching as he looked at her things. She reached for a doll limb that must have escaped her gumball machine just as he was about to. Their hands brushed, and, cringing internally, Violet saw that her sleeve had ridden up, exposing her newest cut.

Tate's hand paused in its journey and instead he reached out a tentative finger and stroked the sensitive skin where her palm and wrist met. She had to suppress goose bumps as she watched their hands unblinkingly. Coming to her senses, she jerked her hand away, tugging down the sleeve and settled her hands in her lap.

"I do it too, you know," he said, fixing her with his dark eyes. Surprised, Violet raised her eyebrows and glanced at his wrist.

"Show me?" she asked and immediately wanted to kick herself for asking such a personal question. But why should she? Hadn't he intruded upon her most personal moment and shamelessly watched, then commented on it? He owed her one.

Tate didn't seem fazed as he raised his left arm and slid the cuff of his yellow sweater down, exposing columns of scars and cuts. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he joked. His cuts were more jagged than hers, she noticed. Violet always cut herself just so, spacing them perfectly and making sure that they were exactly parallel to one another. If you're going to do something - might as well do it right. Even self-mutilation.

"This one I did after my dad left," he said, unfazed, almost casual, pointing to a white line of puckered skin. "I was…ten I think?"

Violet, suddenly at ease, slid her own sleeve down and winced slightly as the material caught on a fresh scab. She had many more fresh ones than him, but he had many more total. _He started when he was ten?_

"Last week," Violet said with a rueful smile. "First day at my new school, _sucks." _

"Westfield?" Violet nodded, and was wondering why he had to ask. He had _seen _her in the library…or was she that forgettable? "Oh yeah I saw you in the library," he said and she immediately and irrationally felt better. "It's the worst, isn't it? I've almost gotten thrown out of there a few times." The revulsion was clear in his voice and Violet knew then that this was somebody that she could talk to.

"I hate it here," Violet exclaimed with disgust, "I hate everyone, all their bourgeois designer bullshit. East coast was much cooler. I mean, at least we had weather." He was staring at her as if fixated upon her words. He was _actually_ listening to her. It had been so long since anybody, even her parents, had listened to a word she said.

"I love it when the leaves change," he said, the expression on his face emphasizing his sincerity.

"Yeah, me too!" Violet replied, and found herself smiling. Suddenly Tate rose to his feet and turned away. Violet felt his absence.

"Why'd you move here?" Tate asked, his back to her, examining things upon her desk.

"My dad had an affair," Violet said, glad that she kept all emotion out of the statement. Tate turned around to look at her. "My mom literally caught him in the act."

"That's horrible," Tate said seriously, looking down at her. Her fake smile faded from her face at his tone. "If you love someone you should _never_ hurt them. Never" Violet hadn't expected this level of seriousness in him. She had never met a guy who wouldn't have made some joke or changed the subject, especially when she tried to keep said subject light, as if it didn't bother her. But he…he was something different. He had said that his dad left; maybe he knew what she was going through.

"I know, right? I know," Violet said, relishing having someone to talk to that understood. Tate picked up a piece of chalk and was writing something on her chalkboard. "And the worst part is that six months earlier my mom had this _brutal_ miscarriage. The baby was seven months old and…we had to have this macabre funeral." Violet didn't know why she was telling him this stuff. She should probably stop…but she couldn't. Tate turned back towards her and she could see the word 'TAINT' spelled out across the board. She went on, "Have you ever seen a baby coffin?"

Violet was proud of the fact that she had told him all of this without any of the emotion that she actually felt. That time of their family's life had been horrible. So much sadness. Violet had just begun to look forward to having a younger sibling after the initial shock of her mother's unplanned pregnancy. Violet grew up as an only child and liked it, but as time went on and her mother's belly had swollen, Violet thought that she could be a good big sister. But it wasn't meant to be. It was strange telling this story to somebody that she had just met…but it didn't feel like she had just met him.

Tate's expression when she finished her story and looked up at him made her bite her tongue. He looked so serious…so pained? She knew what pity looked like but this was something different. Tate walked back towards her, not moving his eyes from hers. He crouched, and reached for her hands wordlessly, his large warm ones engulfing her small, cold ones. His thumb stroked the back of one of her hands and she noticed that he had a silver ring on it – snakes twisted in an intricate pattern.

The intensity in his expression made her suddenly uncomfortable. She was in very real danger of letting herself feel all of that excruciating sadness that she had packed up and conveniently compartmentalized for her own sanity long ago.

"I'm sorry," he said and she was scared. Not of him, of course not of him, but of herself. She stared into his eyes for a long moment, unable to move away from the unexpected tenderness. Suddenly she shook herself out of it and pulled away, standing and taking a few steps back. The places where his hand had held hers tingled and she stretched her fingers out before curling them in again, at once releasing and capturing forever the sensation of his touch. What was she doing? She didn't even _know_ this person! Her dad said that he was messed up, didn't he? She could already tell that he was about, if not more, fucked up as she was.

"Why are you seeing my dad?" she asked, the sudden need to know burning at her. The tenderness was gone from his face, replaced by a grim mask and she could see the darkness there, for just a moment.

"Don't ask questions that you already know the answer to," he said, his eyes traveling up her body in a way that made her want to smooth her dress. She resisted. "You're smarter than that."

Violet waked over to her iPod and picked it up, interrupting the slow, sad song that had been playing. Had it only been a few minutes since he had arrived? His compliment made her smile despite herself, taking the harshness out of his reply. Violet decided to change the subject; she wasn't ready for him to go yet.

"Wanna listen to Morrissey?" she asked, secretly hoping he would say yes. "He's cool, and pissy, and he hates everyone and everything." She sat upon the bed and was rewarded with another of those amazing smiles from Tate.

"Got any Kurt Cobain on that thing?" he responded and she couldn't help but smile, a _real_ smile, at his enthusiasm. Violet was about scroll down to her favorite Nirvana song when the door burst open, startling them.

"What are you doing in here?" Violet's father demanded. She saw Tate turn towards him and then back to her.

"We're just listening to music, Dad," Violet said, playing the situation off casually even though she could hear the anger in her father's voice. Of course he would come barging in here like this. Of course he would interrupt the first time she had hung out with _anybody_ since moving here.

"You need to leave Tate," her father said, gesturing towards the door. "I'm sorry but you shouldn't be in here and I think you know that. Please." Violet was furious now. Her dad had no right to do this! Just because he thought Tate was 'messed up'. It's not like she was sane either. God, if her father only knew…

Violet saw Tate drop his head, looking embarrassed and hurt. She couldn't believe that this was happening. She watched as Tate got to his feet, not looking at her. He walked towards the door and she wanted to stop him but couldn't seem to make herself move or speak.

Tate stopped in front of her father, "What's that thing you think I'm afraid of?" he asked. "Fear of rejection?" Violet's heart hurt at this. How could her father do something like this, and so rudely? He was so out of line on this one.

The words must have hit home for her father too because he opened his mouth to speak but no words came out and he dropped Tate's gaze. Tate strode by him and out of the room without a backward glance at Violet. She wanted to after him, wanted to apologize for her asshole father. But she didn't.

Her father regained his composure and anger came back into his face. "Stay away from him," he warned, sternly.

Angrily Violet responded, "Dad, nothing-"

He interrupted her, yelling this time, "You heard me!" He hadn't yelled at her since…well, she wasn't sure if he _had_ ever actually yelled at her. She shut up, surprised and glared at him. She heard Tate made an angry noise of frustration and then a thump, like he had hit the wall or something. He continued to shout angrily as he descended the stairs, each of his heavy footsteps made her flinch, and ending with a resounding slam of the front door.

Violet's father gave her one last warning look which she met with an icy glare before he left her room. He had left her door open so she got up and slammed it, engaging the locks. She was _furious_ and so, so fucking embarrassed. Why would Tate ever want to see her again after that display of over the top overprotectiveness? She certainly wouldn't blame him if he stayed away. Humiliated, Violet walked back over to her bed, snatching the iPod from where she had left it.

She began scrolling through artists and was surprised when a tear splashed upon the display, making rainbows of the pixels. She wiped at her eyes harshly, forbidding herself to cry.

Violet picked a song at random and it turned out to fit her mood perfectly, the angry guitar riff cutting through her and winding itself into her deep emotional wounds. Not knowing what to do with herself she turned around the room, needing to vent, needing a release.

Violet considered her razor blades but ended up snatching her bag and proceeded to dig out her cigarettes. Not bothering to be quiet, she ran down the stairs and thrust open the door, flying out of it just as her father was coming into view. He shouted something after her that she didn't hear and she cut him off with a loud 'bang' of the door. Violet ran to the end of the driveway and looked at Tate's house. There was no sign of him. Part of her, a larger part than she would admit, wanted to go to his house and see him, to apologize but she was so embarrassed that she turned left and ran down the road, her dress flying out behind her.

Running felt good. She never did it, but she pushed herself faster and faster, relishing in the burn of her limbs and the harsh intake of air into her lungs. She dodged down a street and then another, a searing cramp manifesting itself in her side. She ignored it and kept going. Violet saw a park and ran into it, following a trail down, down. Finally, exhausted, she slowed into a jog and then into a walk. She had very little idea of where she was now but really, she couldn't care less. The smell of the ocean filled her nostrils and then she could hear the faint noise of waves breaking upon the beach.

The ocean, that was exactly what she needed right now. Sand met sidewalk and she continued walking, making her way through the tall beach grass. Violet really hadn't ever been around white sand beaches. The ocean that she was used to was the stormy grey-green of the east coast, with its rocky shores.

This beach was a different world. She descended down towards the water and spotted a cold fire pit. The beach was deserted and she walked right to where the waves stopped and retreated, leaving damp sand in their wake. Spontaneously, Violet toed her shoes off and then dropped her cigarettes into one of them. She reached her hands up under her dress and gripped the elastic band of her stockings, peeling them down her legs and discarding them behind her. Violet gathered up the hem of the floral material and stepped into the water.

It was colder than she had thought it would be, but it felt exquisite. She could hear nothing but the soft lap of the waves and the occasional sea bird. Violet closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Angry tears still threatened to spill out but she forbade them. She dug her toes into the wet sand, relishing in the way that the water moved the ground under her feet. It was appropriate really, this was the physical manifestation of how her life really was, the ground spinning out from under her feet while she remained still, screaming at the world in silence.

Violet stayed that way for a long time and finally felt calmer. It was hard to be angry by the sea. She pulled her feet out from the holes that the waves had buried them in and walked back up to her forgotten shoes and stockings. She sat down heavily upon the dry sand and dug one of the cigarettes out, placing it between her lips. The wind was blowing slightly and kept on killing her Bic lighter.

"Oh come the fuck on," she muttered around the cigarette, flicking the lighter over and over again. Just as she was about to give up and maybe even rip the cigarette into a thousand pieces out of sheer anger, a flame appeared at the end of it. Violet's eyes widened in surprise and she jumped slightly. Without moving, she slid her eyes over the hand and up the arm, only stopping when they met the too-dark ones that she had secretly hoped beyond hope she would find. He raised his eyebrows and nodded towards the flame. Violet didn't take her eyes off of him while she sucked the flame into the tip of the cigarette, inhaling for a good five seconds.

Tate retracted the Zippo lighter, breaking their eye contact, and she heard the distinct metallic click of its lid as he closed it and slid it into his pocket.

She watched him warily, waiting for him to speak but all he did was sigh and lay back on the sand with his arms behind his head. Violet let the smoke out from between her lips and watched the wind catch it, sweeping it away into the atmosphere.

The silence was killing her but she didn't want to be the one to speak first. He was still lying on his back, his eyes partially closed, staring at the sky.

Finally it was too much and she broke the silence. "I'm really sorry about my dad," Violet murmured. She took another drag of her cigarette and watched him out of the corner of her eye. He didn't react, didn't move and she was unsure if he had heard her. A minute passed, then two minutes. Violet was about to repeat her apology when he spoke.

"When I was ten years old, my father ran away with the maid," Tate said. Violet had to strain to hear his soft, deep voice. "He didn't even say goodbye. Just left. My mother…she didn't handle it well. She had never been the greatest sort of person but she had loved my father and his leaving was the biggest betrayal she could have ever experienced."

Violet leaned back on one hand, letting the sand slip between her fingers and turned her body so that she could watch him. His eyes were open now but far away. She waited for him to go on.

"She started drinking - more - and didn't pay any attention to me or my siblings. I remember Addie, my sister, crying because she was so hungry. We ended up living off a jar of peanut butter for a week before I learned how to use the stove. My mom was passed out most of the time and when she was awake…she was angry," he paused and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "She hit us. I tried to get her to snap out of it, to leave the younger ones alone, but she would just beat me twice as much."

Tate raised the bottom of his sweater slightly and Violet could see a set of small, circular scars.

Cigarette burns, she realized with horror.

Tentatively, Violet reached out her hand and stroked the puckered skin with a feather light touch of her finger. Tate shivered visibly and yanked his sweater down, grabbing her hand in the process. Automatically they laced fingers and it was Violet's turn to shiver as heat traveled up from her hand and spread out through her body. She took a large drag to calm her nerves.

It didn't help.

"Why are you telling me this?" Violet asked and his eyes met hers. They were so dark in his otherwise fair features. So dark and full of pain and…something else.

"Because I feel like…we're the same Violet," he said, his eyes not leaving hers. "I know I just met you but, I don't know, it sounds stupid-"

"No," Violet interrupted, tugging on his hand. He sat up, studying her face - for what she didn't know. He must have found what he was looking for because he kept speaking.

"I'm not…normal, Violet," Tate said carefully. Despite herself she snorted.

"You think I am?" she replied, nodding towards their joined hands where her scars were visible on her wrist. He lifted their hands and, to her surprise, delicately pressed his lips to the old scars, carefully avoiding hurting the fresh cuts. He raised his head back up and gave the smallest of smiles. Her heart was beating wildly out of her chest and she hoped that he couldn't hear it.

"I don't want to hurt you. I _never_ want to hurt you," he said adamantly.

_Hurt me?_ Violet thought and asked out loud, "What do you mean?"

"Just...look, maybe you should listen to your dad," he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth in rapid succession. He released her hand, clasping his hands and trapping them between his legs. Violet was confused, one minute he was finding her after she had ran so far, kissing her scars and holding her hand, the next he was telling her to stay away from him?

Not wanting to sound as sad as she felt she joked, "The day I listen to my father, shoot me," Violet said, laughing slightly. Her laughter died when she saw the stricken look on his face, but it disappeared before she could be sure it had even been there.

"Seriously though, Tate. I've been thinking for myself a long time and I'm not about to start allowing people to tell me what to do, okay?" He didn't respond and looked away from her, down the beach. She finished her forgotten cigarette and put it out in the sand. "Hey," she said and bumped his shoulder with hers. He looked at her and she had a sudden urge to kiss the look of fear and sadness off of his face…but she didn't.

"Okay?" she repeated, bumping him again. Finally, he smiled and she loved the way his eyes turned away shyly, the way his hair fell over his face just so. He was _beautiful_.

Tate looked up at her again and said, "Yeah, okay. Just maybe…you shouldn't tell your dad. I don't want to cause any more trouble for you."

"Secrets are my specialty," Violet said and they smiled at each other for a long moment.

"Come on, I should get you home," Tate said finally, standing up and offering her his hand. Violet was disappointed but knew that he was probably right. She accepted his outstretched hand and he lifted her to her feet and she was very aware of their close proximity. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, and his scent made hear breathe deep, drinking him in. He smelled of soap touched with a hint of marijuana all mixed together with a delicious masculine scent that, combined, was intoxicating.

She smiled awkwardly up at him and brushed herself off with her free hand as he laced their fingers together. They started back up towards the park, hand in hand, making their way slowly through the LA suburb streets.

Violet didn't want this time to end. She had never been this close to a boy before, and she had a feeling that he was no ordinary boy. All of this was new to her but it felt so natural, so right. At that moment she didn't give a shit what her parents thought, all she cared about was her hand in his, their matched footsteps on the pavement, and the occasional smile that he gave her that made butterflies erupt in a frenzy in her stomach.

But the walk did end and they stopped at the end of the street. He still didn't release her hand, "You should probably go first."

Violet looked up at him, suddenly shy. "Yeah, I guess you're right," she said. They stood there, studying each other's faces for what seemed like five minutes but in actuality was probably ten seconds.

"Well…bye then," she said hesitantly, moving to take her hand back. He strengthened his hold on it for a moment before letting it go.

"See you soon, Violet," Tate replied, grinning down at her. Violet turned away from him and headed down the sidewalk. She told herself not to turn back to look at him, to be too cool for that, but she couldn't resist. She looked behind her without stopping and he was standing right where she had left him, hands in his pocket staring after her. He lifted one hand and gave a tiny wave which she responded to with a smile over her shoulder.

She knew she would probably be in trouble when she got home, that is, if her father had even noticed that she was gone. She knew that once she went through her front door that she would be entering the perpetual drama and tension that was her family. But she didn't care.

None of that mattered anymore.

Because she knew, without a doubt, that she would see Tate again soon and for the first time in...ever, she had something to look forward to.

**A/N: Sooo what did you think? I am pleased with this one and really hope that you guys review telling me how it fed your shipper cravings. I'm wondering if I am doing anything wrong because I'm not getting a ton of reviews but that also probably has to do with the fact that the spotlight for this storyline has come and gone…but let me know if I am not doing something! I live to please! Not that I am not incredibly thankful to all of you who continue to review. You guys are seriously the best. I hope you all have a wonderful holiday, whatever you celebrate, (yaaay the world didn't end yesterday!) and I shall be seeing (writing to) you in the New Year or before. Love you all and may you find your very own Evan Peters under your tree…or in your bed.**

**Xx Lady Ten**


	9. Chapter 9: Tate

**A/N: Bonjour my lovelies! I hope you all had a happy and restful holiday! Did anyone out there get any good presents (if you celebrate Christmas, that is)? Anyone doing anything cool for New Year's Eve? New Year's and Halloween are my two favorite "holidays" because there are no expectations for them except to have fun. Thank you so much to jandjsalmon (hugs back), Trish, Sarah v, asdf, threwthelookingglass (no worries, I have no intention of abandoning this story), IDLETEEN, MistressInk, OdairBear, Annelise Schneider, TheBanditAristocrat, fanpire4000, and an anonymous guest for your amazing reviews. **

**BanditAristocrat asked if there were going to be "sexy chapters". The answer to that is a resounding YES. I rated it M from the get-go because I intended to write some yummy, somewhat smutty (but I always keep it classy) scenes. I hope that is okay with you guys. If anyone objects let me know and I shall see what I can do but I hated that we had to watch Vivien having multiple sex scenes and we never saw TATE'S! It was an outrage in my humble opinion.**

**Anyway, I digress, you guys seriously make my days so much better and I look forward to hearing from you all chapter after chapter. Here you go - its Tate's perspective of Violet's room and the beach. Ugh I love him so, so much, even though I am writing him I want him to be real and to me mine! (I can write doppelgangers for each and every one of you guys too ;) All I need is a magical words-come-to-life pen or something of the sort.)**

"Cool room," Tate said lamely, busying himself by walking around the spacious, purple-themed bedroom. Getting to her room had been where his plan ended and now he wasn't quite sure what to do. It wasn't as if he had been in a girl's room before. Through the lingering haze of his high he took in the sights around him. She had so many things on her shelves, walls, and desk and he was curious about all of them.

He approached the bookshelf first and picked up a couple of objects, turning them over in his hands. He was too aware of Violet's presence, of her watching him, to pay much attention to what he held in his hands but he was careful to put anything he picked up right where he had found it. Her room was a direct juxtaposition to his with her objects chronicling her relatively short life and his containing only the bare minimum of what he needed. Many of these things were gifts he was sure, but others were truly unique to her. He had never received many gifts in his lifetime and certainly nothing worth putting on display. Birthdays and Christmas were generally ignored in the Langdon household.

With his back to her he smiled at the gumball machine filled with doll limbs. Creepy, but somehow very artistic. He liked it and wondered if she drew or painted. The voices tried to begin their taunts and teases then, triggered by the dismembered parts but he shook them off. They had no place here in Violet's world.

_Do I?_ he asked himself but pushed the thought away. He was here, right now, and that was all that mattered.

He heard Violet's feet touch the ground lightly as she got up and walked to the foot of the bed. Maybe she was as nervous as he was, but she seemed to _cool_, so unfazed. He wished he felt that way.

"Thanks," she said, "I haven't unpacked everything yet." By way of example she nudged a box labeled 'Random Crap' that was sitting on the floor.

Wanting to seem as confident as she did he asked, "Can I?" as nonchalantly as he could. Violet pushed it once again over to him and he sat down on the rug. He could feel her eyes upon him and he would have given anything to know what she was thinking. Turning his attention to the box, Tate picked through some things. CD's, a figurine, a paintbrush, ticket stubs to a band that he had never heard of. He consciously did not look at her as she settled herself across from him.

Tate saw the fat, pink, disjointed leg of a doll peeking out from some papers and went to pick it out for her. She must have noticed it too because her hand appeared in his line of slight, going for the same thing. Their fingertips made contact and he felt a jolt of electricity before he saw them. The scars.

The sleeve of her maroon shirt had slid up when she had reached forward, exposing an expanse of creamy white skin. The angle at which she held her arm made her cuts visible to him, the sight of each one sending a small sliver of phantom pain through his own hidden marks.

He watched sadly as she jerked her hand away, pulling the sleeve down roughly in an attempt to hide what could not be hidden. She was uncomfortable again and he didn't want that.

"I do it too, you know," he said, meeting her eyes. He could see a challenge in them, as if she expected him to run and tell her daddy, but at his words the challenge faded replaced by curiosity. Her eyes flicked down to his wrist.

"Show me?"

Tate wanted to smile at the question. Most people would probably ask why, or be too shy to say anything at all. These sorts of things made people want to run away and pretend nothing was wrong.

But not her.

Without hesitating, Tate lifted his right arm, allowing gravity to drag the sleeve of his yellow sweater down. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he said in both another attempt to make her feel comfortable around him and also because he really did _want_ to see. What could make such a girl do such terrible things to herself? What darkness did she carry around within her?

She stared at his arm, taking in all of the scars. There were many, and they certainly weren't pretty. There was no look of disgust or even pity upon her delicate features for which he was grateful. He wanted pity from no one, least of all her. Weren't they the same? Equals in the dark?

_She is nothing like you_, a mean little voice said, playing upon his insecurities.

_She will run, run away from you,_ another chimed in.

_Destroy her while you-_ Tate violently flung up mental barriers against them, shutting them out of his head. If Violet knew…

She must never know. He was not going to be that kind of person with her.

He had become practiced in hiding these little internal battles so he was sure that Violet had not seen even a flicker on his face. The joint he had enjoyed earlier helped him keep his face neutral too. He continued as if nothing had happened, "This one I did after my dad left," he said coolly, pointing to the very first scar on his arm, the one closest to his elbow. "I was…ten I think?

With a small twitch of a smile Violet mirrored his position, letting him see the neat set of white and red lines that marked her skin like a tattoo. A part of him admired how parallel and precise they were, evenly spaced and beautifully healed. They were in strong contrast to his battle scars which he had intentionally made ragged. As ugly on the outside as on the inside.

With relief, Tate knew that she was at ease now. He was so awkward and unskilled at social interactions. So used to people sensing what lay just below his surface and running from it. They hardly ever knew why, but they always ran in the end. But Violet…she was smiling a little now, in their morbid game of show and tell, and it felt as if they had never been strangers at all.

"Last week," she said lightly. "First day at my new school, _sucks."_

"Westfield?" he asked, as if he didn't know. Why did he have to say it like that? Stupid. _You're not cool, so stop trying to act like you are, jackass._ He noticed that her face fell a little bit and mentally kicked himself again. If anybody knew how it felt to be unnoticed, it was Tate, and he detested that he had made her feel that way for even a second. He spoke up again quickly to cover his blunder, "Oh yeah I saw you in the library. It's the worst, isn't it? I've almost gotten thrown out of there a few times."

Violet's small smile returned and he knew he had patched that one up. He would have to work on his conversation skills, they were rusty to say the least and he didn't want to play games with Violet. Most girls he met were so effing stupid and self-centered that it would be a pleasure to make them feel unnoticed and unimportant, but it was new to him to want to make somebody actually _like _him. Because he _liked_ her. A lot. Already.

They were staring at each other and he wished she would say something, anything. As if reading his mind, words began tumbling out of her mouth, "I hate it here," she exclaimed, "I hate everyone, all their bourgeois designer bullshit. East coast was much cooler. I mean, at least we had weather." So they were from the east coast. Why would they ever want to leave? He vaguely recalled visiting relatives in Connecticut when he was small. It had been during the autumn, and his seven year old self had played in the falling leaves.

He remembered trying to capture the fiery display with his crayons and being disappointed when he had failed. It had been as if the world knew it was in for a long, long winter and wanted to give him one last show. He hated that California only had one season. Boring. A part of him had dreamed of graduating and leaving home, moving to the east coast and maybe even attending an arts school over there. Nowadays that seemed mighty unlikely but he never lost his love of _seasons_.

"I love it when the leaves change," he said and was rewarded when her eyes lit up.

"Yeah, me too!" she replied enthusiastically. Tate rose to his feet, his perpetual ADD making him restless. He walked over to her desk to look at more of her possessions. She had a chalkboard mounted on the wall and he reached for a piece of chalk.

"Why'd you move here?" he asked, not looking at her.

"My dad had an affair," Violet said and Tate was struck by how casual she sounded. He turned to look at her as she said, "My mom literally caught him in the act."

_So the doctor isn't perfect after all…_Tate thought with a small amount of smugness. Shrinks were usually so self-righteous, acting as if they were above all of the vices of the common people. It was satisfying that Harmon was a flawed man, just like the rest of them. Violet's nonchalance however, was what really concerned him. He knew how it felt to have your family torn apart by someone who couldn't keep it in their pants. Hadn't his own cocksucker mother driven their father away?

"That's horrible," he said, looking down at her and watched the fake smile leave her face. "If you love someone you should _never_ hurt them. Never."

He truly believed this. It wasn't love if you were willing to just throw it all away for a fuck. If you loved somebody, it was forever. You would do anything for them, anything to make them happy, and anything to keep them safe from this horrible world.

Tate shook these thoughts from his head. What was the point? It wasn't as if anyone had ever loved him. He had given up on loving people a long time ago. The closest he came was his love for his siblings but even that was insignificant to him now. He wasn't capable of love, and if he was, he would destroy anyone he gave that love to. His love was poison, of that he was certain.

Unable to face her, Tate put his back to Violet, and turned his attention back to the chalkboard. He wrote out T-A-I-N-T in large, careful letters. He had planned on writing his name, or initials, but it seemed appropriate somehow, Tate – Taint if nothing else he was definitely tainted.

Violet continued, "I know, right? I know, and the worst part is that six months earlier my mom had this _brutal_ miscarriage. The baby was seven months old and…we had to have this macabre funeral." He turned around to look at her as she asked, "Have you ever seen a baby coffin?" Sadness swept through Tate. He knew Violet's tone was all an act, was all her trying to be cool for him. He wasn't sure why she was telling this story to him, it wasn't the sort of thing you told a stranger…but he was happy that she was. She was opening up to him. He had the feeling that she hadn't had anybody to open up to for a long time, maybe ever. Like him.

Tate turned around to look at her. She was examining her hands, picking at a hangnail and when she turned her head up towards him he caught the briefest flash of the pain that lay beneath the mask she put up. Unable to help himself, he wordlessly walked back to her, crouched, and took her hand in his. It was so small and cold. He wanted to hold all of her, but resisted. "I'm sorry," he said softly, gazing into her eyes. He wanted her to know that he understood - that it was okay to feel what she was feeling.

Violet looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights, frozen, as he ran his thumb over her soft skin. She pulled away, and he felt the distance that she put between them. He understood though, she wasn't ready, and that was okay. It was okay because he would be there when she was. A dark part of Tate's mind asked him what the fuck he thought he was doing. Since when did he play the protector, the healer? Nothing good ever came of it, he had learned that first hand from an early age. A flash of a memory, Constance striking him as he pushed himself in front of Addie to receive the blow that had been meant for her.

No, Tate didn't play hero anymore.

So why was he so compelled to do it for Violet?

"Why are you seeing my dad?" Violet asked, turning towards Tate. He couldn't tell her. She couldn't know.

Just how long did he think he could keep it from her though?

Did it matter why?

Tate gave his best non-answer, throwing in a compliment for good measure, "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to. You're smarter than that." And she was smarter that. He wasn't about to spell it out for her by saying, 'Hey, I'm Tate, I want to slaughter everyone in my school, I hear voices on a regular basis telling me to murder people, and my house is literally haunted, wanna hook up?' God, if she knew the truth…

His deflection appeared to work because she took her iPod off of the dock while fiddling with a lock of her hair. She huffed a little laugh and he thought he saw her blush slightly. "Wanna listen to Morrissey?" she asked, settling herself on the edge of her bed. "He's cool, and he's pissy, and he hates everyone and everything." Morrissey wasn't Tate's favorite, he lacked the raw, graphic anger of most of his favorite bands, but he filed her love for Morrissey away in the back of his mind for later use.

"Got any Kurt Cobain on that thing?" he asked, glad to get to a happier conversation. They had begun their friendship with the worst that they had to offer each other, now they could cover the lighter bases. Violet's grin at his question made his stomach do a weird flip. Her smile had a way of lighting up her whole face, the whole room. He thought he might be getting an idea of what some of the poetry he had read was talking about. At that moment, Tate knew he would do anything to keep her smiling like that.

The door burst open behind Tate and he jumped, turning around quickly, but he already knew who he would find standing there. This was not good.

"What are you doing in here?" Doctor Harmon demanded, the fury plain in his face. Tate's first reaction was to shrink away from that look, some lingering part of his abusive childhood causing him to want to flee. He turned from Harmon to Violet who was glaring at her father and back again, caught in the middle of the showdown.

"We're just listening to music, Dad," Violet said, playing the situation off. She probably thought her father was just mad that she had a boy in her room. Tate knew better.

"You need to leave Tate," Harmon said sternly, "I'm sorry but you shouldn't be in here and I think you know that. Please." Tate knew. Of course he knew. He was embarrassed to say the least. Having the father's disapproval from the get-go was not the best way to get a girl. He was also hurt. He had poured his soul out to that son of a bitch, the same son of a bitch who had said that he had fear of rejection or something. And what was he doing now? Rejecting him.

Tate got to his feet quickly, avoiding Violet's eyes. He could feel the rage boiling under the surface, fueled by his embarrassment and hurt. He kept himself under control long enough to face Harmon. He would not go down without a fight. He didn't flee anymore, he fought.

"What's that thing you think I'm afraid of?" he asked. "Fear of rejection?" He knew that, that would appeal to Harmon's guilt as a shrink. They all had guilt about their patients. Point made, Tate left the room without looking back. He didn't dare to look back. There was no way Violet would want him around after this embarrassing episode.

"Stay away from him," he overheard Harmon say. He heard Violet respond angrily but didn't catch the words, just Harmon's shout of, "You heard me!

The anger that Tate had managed to keep in check burst out of him as he walked to the staircase. His arm drew back and he hit the bannister with a satisfyingly painful smack. That motherfucker! Kicking Tate out like that. Couldn't he see that his daughter was lonely and sad? Couldn't he see what a piece of shit he was, treating his family like that when he was so lucky to even have one?

Tate wasn't really aware of anything but hate and rage until he was out of the house and across the street. He hadn't even looked before crossing the road, half-hoping that a semi would come and end his misery in one final blow. No such luck.

There was a large tree in the front yard that Tate used to hide in when he was little. He headed for it, slamming the iron gate behind him and launching himself up to catch the lowest branch. It was childlike of him to retreat to his former hiding place but he didn't care. He was too busy kicking himself for all that had happened in the Harmon household.

Tate was sure that Harmon would tell Violet what Tate had said in his sessions, regardless of doctor-patient confidentiality. He had a feeling that Harmon would do what it took to keep them apart. Violet would no doubt be horrified and never speak to him again. He would lose his only friend after just hours of having her.

He shouldn't have slammed the bannister like that, shouldn't have yelled obscenities. But he had been _so_ angry. So humiliated. He replayed it all in his head over and over again, cringing internally.

"Way to go, asshole," he muttered to himself, shredding a leaf into miniscule bits and tossing them down to the ground.

He heard a door slam across the street and running footsteps.

Violet.

Harmon's voice could be heard shouting something but it was too late. Tate saw a flash of blonde and floral print as she sprinted down the street away from her house.

He had to go after her. He probably shouldn't, but he had to. This was all his fault, he had to make it right.

Tate dropped to the ground with a jarring thud and checked to make sure Harmon wasn't watching before he ran off in the direction that Violet had taken.

She was fast, but he had been on the track team back before…everything, so keeping up with her was relatively easy. He lost her for a little while when she slipped down a side street but soon caught up and saw her dart into a park. A park he knew well.

Tate slowed to a walk, not wanting her to see him chasing her. It might scare her and that was the last thing he wanted to do right now. She was probably already scared.

He watched her disappear down the beach, wading through the sea grass. Now that he was here he realized that he had no plan, no idea what he was going to say. What if she ran away from him, too? What if she yelled at him? He had to apologize though, had to make things right even if she never wanted to see him again. It would probably be for the best.

Tate had never cared if he hurt anyone but the thought of hurting Violet…no. No, she was too good and he would let her go if it meant that she wouldn't have to bear witness to his self-destruction.

He stopped on the crest, where the sand dropped away creating a shallow bowl where he had often hung out. There was a dead fire pit in the middle that he made campfires in sometimes, always alone. An empty lifeguard tower stood watch over the deserted beach a little ways down. He had spent the night in there on more than one occasion as well.

Tate watched as Violet made her way down to the water, the wind playing with her long hair and whipping her dress around her legs. She paused, then began taking off her shoes and, to his surprise and great interest, her stockings. She walked right into the water and just stood there. Tate knew exactly what she was doing, hadn't he done it countless times before her?

There was nothing like standing on the edge of something so vast, so powerful, to make you and your problems seem so insignificant. Sometimes he stood ankle deep in that water until his toes went numb, until his feet were buried thoroughly in the sand, eyes closed, just listening to the incessant sound of the breaking waves and the call of the sea birds. It was the only time when his head was well and truly quiet. When it could be just him, alone.

But now there was Violet. She had come straight to his place of refuge in her time of need. That had to mean something, right?

Violet seemed to recover slightly and she walked away from the water, back up to where she had abandoned her shoes in the sand. Tate looked on as she sat down heavily and knew that it was now or never.

The wind and water masked the sound of his approach but he could tell from the position of her head and hands that she was trying to light a cigarette, heard the _click click click_ of her lighter as the wind snuffed it out every time. Tate extracted his plain, silver Zippo lighter that he kept on his person at all times and carefully moved towards her.

"Oh come the fuck on," he heard her mutter softly and smiled to himself. He struck the flint on his lighter and held it out in front of her cigarette, giving her the chance to decline his offer. He was nervous, scared that she would decide reject it and him. Despite only knowing her for…what –two hours? he felt as if he _knew_ her and she him and he selfishly didn't want to lose that. He couldn't seem to make up his mind whether he wanted to cut all ties with her or pursue this. His head was telling him to let her go, that she didn't need the darkness in her life. The only thing that he could give her. His heart was singing a different story.

With apprehension he saw her jump, and then watched as her eyes traveled slowly up towards his face. They rested there, studying him and he urged her with a motion of his head. After a pause, she leaned forward, accepting the flame. A cherry appeared on the end of the cigarette and she inhaled long and deep, exhaling with a small unconscious sigh of relief. He was relieved as well and tension that he hadn't realized he had been carrying left his body with the thin stream of blue smoke that came from between her lips. He looked away from her and put the lighter back in his pocket, falling back onto the sand with a sigh of his own.

They were silent for a long moment as he watched the clouds travel across the sky through tired, heavy eyes. Every now and then a sea bird would enter his line of vision and he wished he could become one of them. What simple lives they must lead, incapable of the heinous thoughts and deeds of the human world.

Finally Violet spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm really sorry about my dad." _Sorry? What are you sorry for?_ Tate asked silently. He didn't know what to say or do. He was so conflicted about this strange, wonderful girl. A part of him, a large part, the selfish part, wanted to keep her. Why should he have something that made him happy after all this time being miserable? For once in his life why shouldn't he get what he wanted?

_Because you're a destroyer_, a small voice whispered in his mind. _Murderer._

"_Not yet,"_ Tate responded silently.

Suddenly words were coming out of his mouth, he had no idea where they came from or why he was saying it but he found himself unable to shut up. Hadn't she shared a horribly painful story with him? "When I was ten years old, my father ran away with the maid," he murmured, wondering and not caring if she could hear him over the white noise of the beach. He was living the memory as he was telling it, feeling all the pain, all the betrayal. "He didn't even say goodbye. Just left. My mother…she didn't handle it well. She had never been the greatest sort of person but she had loved my father and his leaving was the biggest betrayal she could have ever experienced."

He had never told what he was about to tell Violet, to anybody, but it felt so good and he rushed on, "She started drinking - more - and didn't pay any attention to me or my siblings. I remember Addie, my sister, crying because she was so hungry. We ended up living off a jar of peanut butter for a week before I learned how to use the stove. My mom was passed out most of the time and when she was awake…she was angry," tears threatened to choke his voice but he took a deep breath and they subsided. "She hit us. I tried to get her to snap out of it, to leave the younger ones alone, but she would just beat me twice as much."

He could see Addie crying, remember pushing a chair over to the counter to retrieve the peanut butter. Remembered the stink of his mother's vomit as she lay passed out on the floral couch. Memories of angry words flew through his mind, ghosts of blows struck. Goosebumps crept up his arms, and not from the wind.

Tate lifted the bottom of his yellow sweater, dragging the collared shirt with it. He didn't have to look to know where the scars were. He couldn't look at her, afraid of what he would see if he did. Surprise jolted through him as he felt Violet's fingers gliding over the mutilated flesh. Such a tender touch. When had anyone ever handled him with care? Touched him as gently as she was now? The sensation made him shiver as much with pleasure as discomfort. Unable to handle it, Tate covered his skin but snatched up her hand in the process, not wanting to lose the contact. He slid his fingers between hers and relished in the simple touch. It sounded so cliché but her hand fit perfectly in his.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked softly and he turned his head to look at her.

"Because I feel like…we're the same Violet," Tate replied, gazing up at her. "I know I just met you but, I don't know, it sounds stupid-"

_Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! You'll scare her, jackass! _He berated himself again but she answered him quickly, "No." The single word was accompanied by a tug on his hand and he sat up to face her directly.

_Why aren't you afraid, Violet?_ he asked silently, studying her face. Did she understand what he was? Was it possible that she could see the darkness within him and still want to be around him? Still want to even hold his hand?

He wanted to tell her everything, to get it out in the open but knew he couldn't. Not just because she would doubtless run for the hills, but also because he loved the way she looked at him. He didn't want to lose that so instead he said, "I'm not…normal, Violet."

He furrowed his brow when she snorted, "You think I am?" He followed her line of sight to their joined hands, to the exposed cuts on her translucent skin. Unaware of his actions and unable to stop himself, he lifted their hands up and kissed her wrist, taking care to avoid hurting her raw wounds. He raised his head and smiled at her. God, she was pretty – so sad and tortured but beautiful on the inside and out. What he would do to heal her wounds. Not just the ones he had kissed.

"I don't want to hurt you. I _never_ want to hurt you," he said, remembering the conversation in her room. Did she remember too?

"What do you mean?" she asked, raising one eyebrow.

What was he doing? He had to stop this, or at least give her a chance to get out before this went any further. If she didn't, he was afraid that he was going to fall- no he couldn't think that, so he mustered up the hardest words that he had ever had to say.

"Just...look, maybe you should listen to your dad," he said quickly, wanting to get them out before he could take it back. He pulled away and folded in on himself, avoiding the eyes that he could feel on him. His stomach gnawed at him as he waited for her response.

"The day I listen to my father, shoot me," she said in a light tone but the words cut him to the core. He reflexively jerked his head over to look at her in shock. Suddenly the voices reared up, pressing images of him shooting her into his mind. Her face as he aimed the gun. Her body as it hit the floor. Her blood spilling out all around her-

He banished the thoughts violently as her smile faded. She couldn't know what he had been thinking.

"Seriously though, Tate. I've been thinking for myself a long time and I'm not about to start allowing people to tell me what to do, okay?" she said in a somber tone and he looked away from her, gazing at nothing in particular down the beach, at anything but her eyes. He felt her bump his shoulder, "Hey," she said and he reluctantly turned back to her, taking in her flushed cheeks, the light playing off of her hair and skin, the look of strength in her eyes. He was losing this battle and he knew it. "Okay?" she asked, the words accompanied by another bump.

Yep, he had lost.

Happiness burst suddenly and irrationally through him causing him to grin despite himself. She smiled in response and, suddenly shy, he looked away. "Yeah, okay. Just maybe…you shouldn't tell your dad. I don't want to cause any more trouble for you," he said carefully, a part of him kicking himself for giving in, but unable to stop the events already set into motion.

"Secrets are my specialty," she said conspiratorially and they smiled at each other for several seconds. Tate knew they had been gone for a while and that her father must be worried. As mad as he had been, he knew that Harmon had only done what he had done because he loved his daughter. No matter what he felt about it, Tate couldn't begrudge him that and refused to jeopardize father and daughter's relationship. Violet had to be happy.

So, despite the unwillingness he felt at letting her go he said, "Come on, I should get you home." He stood up and didn't miss the flash of disappointment on her face. He offered his hand to help her up, which she accepted and he lifted her to her feet. She ended up so close to him that he could smell her shampoo and a light, floral scent that floated off of her. She was looking up at him with happy, wide eyes and he thought, he _hoped_, that she was feeling the same thing that he was.

Craving her touch, he scooped up her hand and laced their fingers back together as they left the beach and went up the hill into the park, the sounds of the ocean fading behind them.

They didn't say anything as they took their time walking back to their street. Tate wasn't aware of the journey, only of her beside him, her hand in his, their quiet, matched footsteps and her soft breath the only thing he could hear. He wished the beach had been farther away because soon they were standing on the edge of the road, both of their houses in sight.

"You should probably go first," he said, pulling her in front of him so he could look down at her for a little while longer.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," she replied but neither of them moved. He wanted to kiss her, wanted so badly to pull her into his arms, to feel her small body flush against his, feel her hair tangled in his fingers as their lips came together. But he didn't.

Violet broke the silence, "Well…bye then," she said, her eyes momentarily drifting from his and a blush crept up her cheeks.

He wouldn't say goodbye to her. He didn't think that he could even if he wanted to so he said instead, "See you soon, Violet," and meant it. Because he didn't think he could go without seeing her again soon. He gave her another smile and was rewarded by one of her own as she turned away from him. He watched her go, hoping that she would turn around, hating that he hoped such a silly thing. He didn't think she would, but then her head turned and his heart leapt. He pulled one hand out of his pockets and held it up in a silent goodbye. A silent promise.

When she had disappeared into her house, Tate made his way slowly to his. He knew the hell and chaos that he would encounter once there. Knew that most of the joy of this day would be drowned out by the oppressive misery of the house and his family.

However, somehow it didn't seem to matter as much and, as he flopped down upon his bed, behind his locked door in his dark room, he realized something.

Realized that, for the first time in two years – hell maybe even all seventeen years of his life, a light had come into being inside of him. A light called Violet.

**A/N: Whew! That was a long one. Maybe the longest yet. When I get a-typin' I just can't stop and suddenly four hours have gone by and I have eleven pages. It's like magic! Let me know what you think and I will be looking forward to hearing from you guys, my favorite people in the world! Until next time, my lovelies!**

**Xx Lady Ten**


	10. Chapter 10: Violet

**A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update guys! I've been working an average of 11 hours a day and it leaves little time for writing when I **_**finally**_** get home. Thank you so, so much to: jandjsalmon (my Tate is a wonderful mix of psychotic manipulator and genuine romantic. I've caught him before he goes beyond the point of no return), IDLETEEN, Trish, Rock The Rain, chanellll (thank you for your suggestion, I will definitely keep it in mind), sublimesubtleties (I was intimidated too! Write your own, it's a wonderful feeling!), MoonlightNymph, and an anonymous guest for your wonderful reviews. You guys are incredible and the reason that I do this. Per some suggestions I am going to try to reduce the amount of same events from both of their prespectives. I don't want you guys to get bored. I love showing what Tate and/or Violet is actually thinking but I will do my best to keep it exciting. Enjoy my lovelies and don't forget to review!**

Violet awoke the next morning with a smile on her face. Once she realized what she was doing she quickly turned it into a scowl directed at herself. She was most certainly not the kind of girl to be all giddy over a boy.

Except she was.

She hadn't even had any nightmares last night, which was strange. Violet didn't remember the last time she had both slept _and_ been nightmare-free. She stretched and squinted against the perpetual sun that crept through a gap in her heavy curtains. Idly, she wondered if Tate might wait for her so they could walk to school together. That prospect made the butterflies in her stomach awaken and she threw back the covers, letting her bare feet hit the floor with a _thud_.

Her alarm was still half an hour away from going off so she went to the bathroom to shower. The house was silent – maybe her parents had already left for the day. She hoped that was the case.

The scalding hot water hit her scalp and bare back and she relished in the almost unbearable heat, taking her time shampooing her hair and putting off getting ready for the day that awaited her. It was Thursday, so she had two tests, one in math and the other in AP History. She was prepared - she just didn't feel like answering the multitude of inane questions that her teachers thought might challenge them. Nothing challenged her anymore. She hoped that college would be harder.

Before shutting off the water, Violet examined the marks on her arm. She ran a finger across the raised lines and had to suppress another smile at the memory of Tate kissing them. Heat traveled through her body at the thought of him. Heat that had nothing to do with the water. Good Lord, what was happening to her?

Violet got out and toweled herself off, examining her naked body in the mirror. She was small for her age, lacking the curves that most of her female peers had already developed. Pushing her shoulders forward, she experimented with her nonexistent cleavage and gave up with a heavy sigh. It was good she didn't have giant breasts yet, they would just sag sooner.

_Yeah, just keep telling yourself that, _she thought and hurriedly dried her hair. One glance at the clock on her bedroom wall told her that she had taken too long getting ready so she quickly threw on the first shirt and dress that her hand came into contact with, which turned out to be a light olive long-sleeved shirt and a white and black speckled dress with red accents that came just below her knees. She slid black stockings over her legs, cursing as she snagged a broken fingernail on the flimsy material. Over all of it she pulled on a baggy, purple and blue plaid shirt and her usual ankle-high brown boots.

She dashed over beside her bed and snatched up her messenger bag and raced out the door and down the stairs.

The smell of coffee lingered in the kitchen and Violet inhaled deeply. She saw that all of her hurrying had paid off, allowing her a couple of minutes to chug as much of the coffee as possible. Sipping quickly and watching the clock on the microwave, Violet let herself relax for a moment, going over her boring schedule for the day. A brief buzzing noise interrupted her thoughts and she looked down at the counter to see her dad's iPhone. The phone itself was unremarkable but what was going across the screen made her heart stop and her stomach turn. The thing about iPhones was, when one received a text message, the entirety of the message popped up on the screen without one having to unlock it. The message upon her father's screen was from _her. _From the baby-whore who had fucked Violet's father and had been half-responsible for the past year of hell that their family had gone through.

Violet snatched up the phone and re-read the message over and over again.

_Hey lover, sorry I missed your call.  
Call me back when you can.  
xo Hayden_

Rage rose up in Violet and, unfortunately for him, her father chose that exact moment to enter the room. Her head snapped up, and she fixed him with her most devastating glare. He stopped dead in his tracks, opened his mouth to ask what the matter was, and then spotted his phone clenched in her fist. She set her coffee cup down on the counter with such force that hot liquid splashed out and onto her hand. She didn't feel it. All she could feel was betrayal and fury.

Her father was about to say something but she interrupted him by hurling the phone directly at his head. He managed to dodge it, and only its protective case prevented it from being smashed to smithereens. Without a backwards glance Violet sprinted out of the door, slamming it behind her so hard that the glass rattled in its panes.

The morning was cool for a change and it whipped her hair out behind her as she sped down the sidewalk. She was so upset that she didn't even think to check for Tate - didn't even think of him at all until she was most of the way to the school and by that time she was thankful that he couldn't see her like this.

Violet wanted to be alone, and only her father's presence in the house prevented her from going back and spending the day locked in her room. Besides, she had those tests and would no doubt have to make them up after school if she missed them. So she went, fuming all the way.

She wanted to hit something. Hit _someone._ How could he do that? How could he still be in contact with that slut after all the promises he had made to her mother, had made to _her._ That lying piece of shit had the audacity to always preach lessons to her, to kick Tate out yesterday.

Violet felt like an idiot for ever believing a word he said. His promises meant nothing, his words were empty. She wondered if she should tell her mother. Part of her was terrified that if her mother found out their family would be done for good. The other part was wondering why she cared. Wouldn't she and her mother be better off without him? Wouldn't their lives be easier without a pathological liar in the house?

Her mind going a mile a minute, Violet frantically dug her cigarettes out of her bag, despite the fact that she was almost to school. With manic excitement she hoped that, that bully-bitch Leah would see her. Violet was more ready for a fight than she had ever been in her entire life.

The courtyard was packed, as usual at this time and Violet strode right in as she had before, cigarette pressed between her lips, blue smoke trailing out behind her. She was still furious and majorly displeased at having to be in this hellhole at the moment. Violet navigated the maze of lunch tables that were arranged in the undercover area outside of the cafeteria.

The incessant chatter of her peers droned in her ears as she imagined a myriad of ways to punish her father when she was shoved from behind. Her cigarette flew out of her hands and onto the pavement as she whirled around to see her attacker. Leah. Who else would it be, really?

"I told you not to smoke out here," Leah said loudly, her two minions stepping up behind her. Violet looked her straight in the eye, showing no fear because she felt none. She was more than ready for this.

"What is your problem, bitch?" she asked, hands clenching at her sides. Leah's eyes widened in disbelief at the insult.

"Did she just call me a bitch?" Leah asked and Violet saw small smiles start on the minion's faces.

"Sounded like bitch," one of them agreed. Three against one, this would be interesting, if they ever stopped their moronic games and got on with it. Violet decided to step it up.

"Seriously. Mommy drink too much? Daddy love your brother more? Your uncle play with your titties when you were a kid? I'm not scared of you."

"You should be," Leah replied, fury sparked across her face. Heads begin to turn, attracted by their increasingly loud exchange.

Violet and Leah continued to stare each other down, daring the other to make the first move. There it was. Violet didn't miss it. That small twitch. No, Violet wasn't afraid of Leah, Leah was afraid of Violet.

In a flash, Violet lunged forward, arms outstretched and she tackled Leah around the middle, driving her to the filthy pavement. Leah's head hit with a satisfying _smack_ but quickly recovered, delivering a stinging slap across Violet's cheek.

"Fight, fight, fight!" students chanted, forming a circle around the girls. Straddling her, Violet didn't hesitate, she landed two hard punches, one to Leah's cheek, the other to her stomach as the other girl struggled to get out from under her. Suddenly hands grabbed Violet from behind, dragging her off of Leah. She shook them away, regaining her feet. It didn't take long before Leah was swinging her hand around to connect with Violet's cheek. The force of the blow knocked Violet's head to the side, making her see stars.

Violet recovered quickly and grabbed Leah by the shoulders, shoving her into a set of lockers. The minions were there in an instant, digging their claws into Violet's arms, trying to drag her off of their leader as Violet struggled to pull out as much of Leah's dyed hair as possible.

The minions finally overpowered her and she found herself sliding face first over a table full of people's abandoned breakfasts. Then Leah was on her again and Violet was unable to attack her as the minions held her arms. Leah grabbed Violet by the collar and flung her down onto the ground, straddling her.

Leah's face was a mask of rabid fury. She punched Violet, despite Violet's attempts at blocking the blows. Violet didn't feel the pain; or if she did it only made her hungrier to inflict more upon her assailant.

She smelled it before she saw it. The abandoned cigarette. Violet turned her head and spoted the smoldering stick. She reached out and somehow managed to grab it, quickly burying it into Leah's exposed arm.

Leah let out a shriek and recoiled from Violet and her cigarette. Violet took the opportunity for freedom and leapt to her feet, just in time too, because teachers are running towards the commotion. Without looking back Violet snatched up her bag and ran as fast as she could, not stopping until she had reached the bathroom nearest her first class.

Violet leaned up against the door, panting. Her blood was coursing through her veins hot and fast, heart pounding. She turned the lock behind her, glad that this was an old school and still had locks on the inside of the doors. She walked over the sinks and turned one on, letting the cold water run over the bloody knuckles on her right hand. She looked up and raised her eyebrows at the sight in the mirror. A somewhat scary smile was plastered on her lips and her hair was sticking out every which way. There was an angry red scrape above her left eye; she would have to cover that up somehow so her parents didn't see.

All in all, she didn't look too bad considering the beating she had received. Most of her injuries were concealed by her clothes. She knew there would be a nasty bruise on her ribcage; she could already feel it spreading. Cupping her hands together under the frigid water she leaned down and splashed her face, wincing as the water stung the scrape. The bell rang as she was drying herself off and she had just enough time to smooth her clothes down and settle on the hat she had dug out of her bag before unlocking the door and crossing the hall to her class.

There were a few whispers from kids who had seen the fight, but nobody seemed to know it had been her. Violet was good at invisible. She liked invisible. The teacher entered the room and Violet allowed herself to become lost in the lesson about seventeenth century poets, forgetting, however temporarily, about her father and her new nemesis.

#####

It wasn't until Violet was almost home that she remembered Tate. The events of the day had been enough that he had completely slipped her mind and she stopped at the start of her street to look around. He was nowhere in sight. A twinge of disappointment struck her. She thought he might appreciate the full story of her showdown against three bitches.

Violet started down towards her house, her steps growing slower as she remembered the cut on her forehead. Maybe if she got up to her room fast enough nobody would notice. All she had to do was keep her head averted, right?

The scents of dinner filled her nostrils when she carefully pulled open the kitchen door. Dread filled her as she spotted her mother, who has her back to the door. Violet tried to cross the room before her mother could catch her but to no avail, Vivien spots her.

Great.

Violet gave her mom a small smile and made to leave the room when her mother stopped her.

"Woah," her Vivien said, and walked quickly towards her.

Violet stopped, annoyance coursing through her. Her mom was the last person she wanted to see right now. She still didn't know what to do about what she had discovered about her father and, until then, would feel heinously guilty for keeping such a huge secret from her mother.

"What happened to your face?"

"I fell down," Violet replied sullenly, not meeting her mother's concerned eyes.

The lie isn't convincing.

A sigh, "Come here, sit down."

"I'm fine," she replied, making to leave the room again.

"If you don't clean those up properly they'll get infected," Vivien replied and Violet knew she was right. Part of her didn't care but another, more practical side wanted the marks gone as soon as possible so Leah wouldn't get the satisfaction of seeing her handiwork. So she obeyed, perching on a stool at the breakfast bar, trying, and failing, to think of a good lie. Her mother had an uncanny way of seeing right through her, even now that they had drifted apart.

Vivien went and grabbed a first aid kit, then ran a towel under hot water, taking a seat in front of Violet.

"Was it a girl or a boy?" The heat from the towel stung and made Violet flinch, sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth. Her mother continued her ministrations.

"Girls. Three of them." No point in lying now.

"Hope they look worse. You know their names?" Oh sneaky, mom. There was no way in hell Violet was giving her mother any more information, she would just use it to get Leah and her minions in trouble, which would make Violet look totally weak. She was not the kind of girl to go crying to mommy.

"I'm not narcing."

She patiently sat where she was, allowing her mother to take care of her. If it made Vivien feel useful, if it made her feel happy for a moment, Violet was willing to put up with it.

"You know, we can easily move you to a different school. There are a lot of really good private schools right in this neighborhood."

Oh yeah, and admit defeat? No way.

"I'm not running away - I'm not scared of them," Violet responded, rolling her eyes. She knew her mother was just trying to help, but she couldn't help the twinge of indignant pride that flashed through her at her mother's suggestion of switching schools.

"You're not afraid of anything. It's like that time in kindergarten when you insisted that I bring you home from a slumber party because all the other girls were sleeping with a night light on."

Violet stifled a smile. She remembered that night, they had been telling scary stories, and it had been fun, until they wanted to go to sleep and one of the girls had started crying because she was afraid of the dark. So childish. Even when she _was_ a child, Violet hadn't really acted like one. Adults had always thought that she was strange because she had always been so serious, so practical, never desiring to take part in the usual activities of young children.

Her mother went on, "You got the short end of the stick lately. This move and, your dad and I haven't exactly been great to be around." _No, really? _Violet thought sarcastically, but didn't voice the usual cold, aloof comment that she r might have spouted. Despite herself she was enjoying this quiet, intimate time with her mom. She hadn't remembered the last time that her mother had actually taken care of _her, _not the other way around.

Instead she said, quietly, "Why don't you guys just get divorced if you're so miserable."

"We still love each other," her mother responded sadly, still dabbing at Violet's cut, this time with antibiotic.

"Really? Could have fooled me. I thought you hated each other - well, at least you hated him. I don't blame you. He was a shithead." She paused, biting her tongue as her mother pulled away and gave her a look. She didn't want to ruin this moment by earning a lecture about her language, so she apologized, "Sorry."

Her mom smiled slightly, "It's okay - he was a shithead." Violet smiled then, too.

"You know, we've got a lot of history, your dad's been through a lot, I've been through a lot." Her mom paused, looking down sadly and Violet knew she was thinking about her almost-sibling. She turned back to Violet, giving a few last dabs, "I guess we need each other."

Violet looked at her mom, studying her face. She was still beautiful, despite the lines that the past year had etched into her features. Violet had always been a little bit jealous of her. Her perfect hair, perfect body, high cheekbones, eyes that sparkled when she smiled. Violet didn't know where she got her looks from, but it certainly wasn't from her maternal side.

"What are you scared of?" she asked suddenly. "You said I'm not scared of anything. So what scares you?"

Her mother looked her right in the eye, "Lately? Everything. Life will do that to you."

Violet understood where her mom was coming from, but didn't know the feeling. She had always lived her life facing down one monster at a time, overcoming any challenge that faced her with fists raised. She couldn't tell her mom about what she had seen on her dad's phone, she just couldn't. How could she hurt her like that, especially when things were already so tense?

Her mom began packing up the first aid kit and Violet stood up.

"Dinner will be ready in half an hour," Vivien said, putting the box back in the cupboard.

"Okay," Violet replied and made to leave the room, but stopped in the doorway. "Hey mom?"

Viven turned to look at her.

"Thanks."

Vivien smiled, "You're welcome, Violet."

With that Violet left the room, ignoring her father completely as he came out of his study, headed towards the kitchen.

#####

After dinner, Violet locked herself in her room and plotted. Leah must be stopped, she knew that, but she had to figure out how. She was about to turn on her iPod when she heard a faint _click_. She paused and listened.

_Click_. There it was again, it was coming from the window. She walked over to it and flipped the curtain aside, shoving it up just as another pebble struck the glass.

Tate.

He was standing under her window, arm raised to toss another projectile but he lowered his arm when she leaned out of the window. Violet suppressed a smile at the sight of him. He was exactly what she wanted right now.

"Hey," he whispered, "can you come out?"

"Can you come up?" she whispered back. She knew that it would be almost impossible for her to escape her house right now and there was a conveniently placed lattice work growing up underneath her window. She had already planned how she would climb down it one of these days but right now it would be easier if he just came up. Her heart skipped at his answering grin as he dropped his handful of pebbles and began to climb. She was impressed by how silent he was doing it and soon she was stepping back to allow him entrance into her bedroom.

A silly, completely foreign part of her mind compared the situation to _Romeo and Juliet_ but she immediately packed that notion right back where it had come from and self-consciously smoothed down her dress as he slid easily through her window.

Once he was safely in, Violet slipped past him, avoiding eye contact and closed the window as quietly as she could. Before facing him she shook her head slightly in an attempt to cover up the scrape, and then turned, leaning back against the window sill.

Tate was standing a few feet away, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched, looking around. When his eyes came around to her, he smiled and she returned it with one of her own.

"Hey," she said, suddenly shy.

"Hey," he replied. Violet walked over to her iPod and set it on shuffle, pleased when the first song that came on was by Nirvana. She turned it up enough that her parents wouldn't be able to hear them speaking, but not loud enough that they would come pounding on the door yelling for her to shut it off.

When Violet turned back around, Tate had settled himself in the armchair by her bed. He was wearing jeans and a black sweater with red trim. She was becoming very fond of his sweaters, very fond indeed.

"So, how's it going?" he asked casually, as if he hadn't just snuck into her room late at night. Almost as if he did this all the time. Violet hoped that he didn't do this all the time. She had allowed herself to delude her mind into thinking that they had something special. That, just because _she_ had never had a boy in her room, well, with the exception of him, that he had never been in another girl's room. She pushed the thoughts aside and climbed up on her bed. What did it matter? He was here right now.

"Oh, you know, just another day in Hell High," she joked and brushed an errant lock of hair behind her ear. He noticed the mark on her face immediately and got up, his face full of concern.

"What the hell happened, Violet?" he asked, leaning over the bed towards her, ignoring her attempts at hiding the scrape.

"It was nothing, just some bitches at school," she replied, looking away. Her eyes snapped up to his as he tenderly ran a thumb over her eyebrow, just under the cut. He was so close that she could feel the heat coming off of him, smell the marijuana smoke on his clothes. Before she could react he had pulled away and settled back in the chair, face serious.

"Tell me," he said, and his voice barely concealed his anger. Violet found that she quite enjoyed the touch of protectiveness that he seemed to feel towards her, but she didn't want him to see her as weak or a victim.

"Since day one this bitch has been all over my ass about smoking," Violet began, rubbing a finger over her tender knuckles, the rage beginning to bubble up at the mere mention of her.

"Who was it?"

"Her name is Leah."

Tate's lip curled up in disgust at the name.

"You know her?" Violet asked.

"Yeah, I know her. She is a first class crack-whore," Tate said and she noticed how dark his eyes became in his anger. "Was that your guys' fight that the whole school was talking about today?"

Violet wasn't surprised he had heard about it, half of the school had been there to witness the fight itself, and the other half had probably known all about it by second period.

"Yeah, that was me," Violet replied, rolling her eyes.

"I heard you really fucked Leah up," Tate said and Violet thought she detected a hint of pride in his voice.

"I hope so," Violet said and stood up, unable to keep still. Just thinking about Leah made Violet want to find out where she lived and finish what she had started in the courtyard. Something had to be done.

Suddenly furious she began pacing, unable to control herself. "I hate her. I want to kill her!" she exclaimed stalking back and forth in front of Tate.

"Then do it. One less high school bitch in the world making the lives of the less fortunate more tolerable is, in my opinion, a public service," he said, matter of factly. Violet stopped her pacing and looked at him, considering for a moment that he might be serious. He smiles and she laughs a little.

"Got any more of that weed?" she asked, putting her hands on her hips. He looked up at her, surprised. "I can smell it on you, Tate, I'm not an idiot."

He grinned and dug around in his pockets, extracting a mint tin. Violet walked over to the larger of her two window seats and opened the window, breathing deep the cold night air. She felt the cushion shift beside her and looked over at him out of the corner of her eye. He placed a joint between his lips and flicked open his Zippo lighter, sucking the flame into the twisted end. He inhaled and blew out smoke a couple of times, burning off the excess paper before handing it to her for the first real drag.

She took it from him with a small smile, and pulled on the joint, savoring the heady, herbal flavor of the excellent quality marijuana. Closing her eyes in relief she French inhaled before inhaling fully, holding the smoke in her lungs for a few burning moments, then exhaled, sending the smoke out into the LA night.

They sat like that in silence for a long while, sharing the joint between them, becoming increasingly stoned as the paper burned down.

"Look," Tate began, croaking the word out with lungs full of smoke. He exhaled in a rush and continued, "You want her to leave you alone? Stop making your life a living hell? Short of killing her, there's only one solution: _scare_ her. Make her afraid of you, that's the only thing bullies react to."

Violet considered this, taking the last hit before wetting her fingers and pinching the cherry out between them. Her head was marvelously foggy yet clear. Everything seemed so simple, so easy.

"How?" Violet asked, flicking the burnt paper end to the ground, not caring where it landed. She shifted so that she was facing him completely, cross legged. The weed had made her much less self-conscious and now she relished their proximity. He turned as well, mirroring her posture so that their knees were touching. Despite her haze she felt a jolt of electricity from their contact points which raced right up to settle as butterflies in her stomach.

"It's simple. You simply walk up to her and say something like, 'hey I'm a dealer and I'll give you a good price if you stop fucking with me.' Something along those lines."

"She's a cokehead. I don't have coke," Violet said, skeptical.

"You won't need it. That's just an excuse to get her over there." He gestured with his head to his house across the street, dimly illuminated by the street lights and a single lit window on the bottom floor. "She'll leave empty handed and terrified and I promise you, you'll never be bothered by her again."

Violet raised her eyebrows at him and wondered what exactly he planned to do to Leah. "How am I gonna terrify her?" Violet asked.

"That's where I come in," Tate said and gave her a deviously sexy smile that made her heart jump. The plan was a good one, if they could pull it off. Plus she would get to see his house which was also extremely enticing.

"Alright, deal," Violet said and grinned evilly, matching his expression. They both laughed a little, excited by the prospect of teaching the queen bitch a lesson.

"You wanna watch something?" Violet asked suddenly and immediately bit her tongue. The weed was making her bold, too bold. "Sorry, you probably have to go or something," she said, looking away from him.

"No, I'd like that," Tate replied and Violet turned her head slightly to look at him. His eyes were so dark in his otherwise fair features and she thought she was in very real danger of becoming lost in them, like some sort of pathetic television character.

When she realized that he was being serious, that he _did_ want to stay here, with her, at night, and watch something she got up and walked towards her bed. Her laptop was on the bedside table and she pushed up a couple of pillows against the headboard to make viewing more comfortable. Without waiting for him, she settled herself on the far side of the bed and began to browse her plethora of illegally downloaded movies. He shut the window and joined her, hesitating for the briefest moment before climbing onto her bed. She probably would have missed the hesitation if she wasn't so aware of each and every one of his movements but it was nice to know that she wasn't the only shy one in the room.

Violet picked something out, an indie horror movie that she hadn't watched yet and turned the volume up before placing it between them, down near their knees. She was trying so hard to act nonchalant, like she did this all the time and hoped that he didn't notice her flushed cheeks and slightly shaky hands. She nestled back into the pillows, realizing too late that their shoulders were touching but unable to pull away for fear he would look into it. Even though there was plenty to look into.

Tate was way too flirtatious and bold to be completely indifferent to her. He was the one who had come knocking at her window, after all. The one who had kissed her wrist, held her hand all the way home yesterday. No, there was definitely something here. There had to be.

The movie began and Violet switched off the lamp on her side of the bed. She couldn't focus on what was going on, the majority of her attention was solely focused on the boy beside her, breathing softly, one arm thrown up behind to support his head. Finally the effect of the marijuana overpowered her nerves and she allowed herself to relax, sliding down against the pillows, learning to enjoy the continued contact between them even if it was just their shoulders.

They laughed at all of the same parts, made quiet sounds of horrified amusement at the particularly nasty bits. Violet's eyes began to become heavy, dropping every now and then before she dragged them open again, blinking away the sleep. Soon though she was powerless against the weed, against the contentment she felt and her eyes closed one last time and didn't open again.

#####

Violet was woken by the sun streaming through her curtain which was pushed back from its normal closed position. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, squinting against the harsh light. Then she sat bolt upright looking about her frantically.

Tate.

Tate had been here when she fell asleep. Oh God why did she have to fall asleep?

Her computer was back on the bedside table and she was quite surprised to find herself all tucked under the covers. Tate was conspicuously absent. Had he covered her up or had she slipped under the blankets all on her own? The mental image of him tucking her in made her blush furiously.

Violet ran a hand through her tangled mess of hair, wincing as her fingers caught a snag. She cursed herself silently and got out of bed, tugging down the hem of her skirt. She walked to the window that Tate had originally climbed through and saw that it was still open a crack. He must have slipped out in the night.

Oh man, what if she snored? What if she drooled? Humiliation coursed through her. She had awoken too early again so she showered and took her time picking out an outfit. Another beige, long sleeved shirt and a button down blue floral print dress with a baggy cardigan over the top of it all. A hat tumbled from the top shelf of her closet and she smiled as she bent to pick it up.

Coon skin hat.

Perfect.

Violet plopped the fashion monstrosity upon her head and appraised herself in the mirror. Aside from the hat she looked pretty good, but the furry partial-animal atop her head added a slight edge that might freak Leah out all the more.

If that plan was still a go…

Wanting to avoid all contact with either parent, Violet skipped the kitchen and slipped out the front door. The days were getting slightly cooler as October came to an end. If she were still back in Boston the world would be orange, red, and brown, the leaves giving one last show before disappearing for their long hibernation.

She walked slowly down the driveway, watching Tate's house. When had he left? She was usually such a light sleeper but he had managed to leave without disturbing her. Violet mentally kicked herself again. She didn't blame him for leaving. There was no sign of movement from the house. Maybe he had already left for school. Huffing a sigh of frustration with herself Violet hitched up her bag and picked up the pace.

She rounded the corner and almost crashed right into the figure who was there, leaning up against the fence.

"Woah, there!" Tate exclaimed, hurrying to steady Violet as she stumbled. She looked up at him with wide eyes as he let go of her shoulders and picked up her pack of cigarettes that she had dropped in her bewilderment.

"Tate!" she said breathlessly, trying to regain her composure – he had startled her. "What are you doing here?"

Tate smiled down at her and laughed a little, "I was waiting for you." Violet hadn't known how much she had wished that to be true until he had said it and she couldn't hold back her answering grin.

"Cute raccoon," he commented, pretending to pet it and she ducked away, laughing.

"I thought Leah would appreciate my excellent fashion sense," Violet replied and it was his turn smile. They turned in the direction of the school and began walking, their shoulders bumping occasionally as they went.

"Sorry I left without saying goodbye or anything," Tate mumbled, and she peered up at him out of the corner of her eye.

"S'okay, sorry I fell asleep. When did you leave?"

"After the movie was over, it was a pretty good one. You're cute when you sleep."

Violet almost missed that last bit, he had said it so casually. Her head snapped up, suspicious that he was making fun of her but when she met his gaze there was only a small smile playing on his lips and a tenderness in his eyes that she had never seen before. From anyone.

"Right," she replied sarcastically, playing it off and lit a cigarette, anything to keep her distracted from the million things that were going through her head. Their situation was so strange. What were they? Friends? She certainly didn't think of him as just a friend. How could she when he looked like…that. Especially when he stared at her with that way of his and said things about how she was cute when she slept.

Violet tried to push the thoughts out of her head, chiding herself for being an idiot. It didn't work.

Soon they were in sight of the school.

"So the plan is a go then?" Tate asked as they neared the entrance.

"Yep," Violet said and took a final drag of her cigarette before dropping it on the ground and grinding it in with the toe of her boot. She wanted to get close enough to Leah to talk to her, not to get punched in the face again.

They walked into the crowded courtyard and paused. Violet didn't miss the glances she got, that _they_ got. She thought she might like that attention.

"So…" Tate said, "See you at my house then?" Violet nodded. "Okay, just come on in the front door, nobody will be home. The door to the basement is the first one on the left. I'll leave a pair of my Converse outside so you'll know for sure."

Violet nodded and they shared a devious smile. With one last affectionate pet to her hat, Tate walked off, the crowd parting to let him pass. Violet headed in the opposite direction, on the hunt for her quarry.

Leah wasn't hard to find, she was at her locker, dialing in the combination, alone for once. Violet walked right up to her, squared her shoulders and started talking.

"Here's the deal. I need you to stop harassing me." Leah whirled around to face her, a glare already in place on her flawless face. Violet, unfazed continued, "Meet me after school for your free sample. I'm a dealer and a good one; I've got the best shit in town."

Leah gave her a satisfied smile and Violet turned on her heel and walked away, victorious. Oh this was going to be so, so very sweet.

**A/N: Ruh Roh, things are about to get scary! I have a grand plan for the events of Leah's terrifying experience and then the break-in AND then more lurrrve between Tate and Violet. Angst, horror, romance. Le sigh…I can't wait! Can anyone bring me some cupcakes? I have a mean, mean craving for funfetti cupcakes with funfetti icing. Nommm. Until next time my dears, I love you all!**

**Xx Lady Ten**


	11. Chapter 11: Tate

**A/N: I'M BACK! And…I AM A TERRIBLE PERSON! I am so, so sorry I left you guys hanging for so long! Real life has been eating up ALL of my time! I went to Hawaii last week and work has been an absolute hell storm and this is the first time I have had to sit down and write. The characters have been hammering away at my head, demanding to be written and I just couldn't put them off any longer! Plus I missed you guys too much. Thank you so much to: my darling jandjsalmon, IDLETEEN, Rock The Rain, Sarah v, Trish, AHS3, shtyeh, Ahhh, Pechkapesh, MyMyMaia, and a couple of Anons for your inspiring, fantastic reviews. Here is the Tate POV, hope you like it!**

Tate slipped out into the perpetual sunshine, taking care not to call attention to himself. He was cutting sixth period and the campus rent-a-cop had come to enjoy catching Tate and hauling him to the principal's office.

Or enjoyed trying.

There was no one in sight as he casually walked off of school grounds. If you appeared as if you were supposed to be doing something or supposed to be somewhere, people rarely looked twice. The plan was running through his head like a film and his palms began to sweat in excited anticipation.

Once he was a block from school, Tate extracted a pre-rolled joint from behind his ear. His hair was so long now that it could conceal something as small as a joint. Maybe he wouldn't cut it quite yet.

The marijuana smoke filled his mouth and nose, bringing with it memories from the night before.

He hadn't known what had driven him across the street and underneath Violet's window. Something had called to him. He had been sitting in his room, per usual, listening to too-loud music, per usual. Brooding, per usual. He had come home to discover Larry and Constance making out in the kitchen.

The scene alone was utterly revolting, but when he had slammed the door to announce his presence, his mother had lain into him.

"What in God's good name did you tell Doctor Harmon?" Constance had demanded. Larry had beat a hasty retreat at the sound of her tone. Tate followed Larry with his eyes until he was out of the room, picturing what the combination of his shotgun and .45 would do to the man's balding head. The image made him smile.

"Do you think this is funny?" Constance said, her voice rising dangerously. Tate's smile vanished and he looked sidelong at her. Her hair was in its typical style, short and Southern belle blonde, teased up. Her makeup did a decent job of hiding her wrinkles but Tate could see through the façade. If only she was as ugly on the outside as she was on the inside.

But life was never that fair.

Her piercing eyes held him and he turned to face her fully, still holding his tongue.

Nothing drove her crazy like the silent treatment.

"Answer me!" she shouted, her voice ringing off of the pristine surfaces of the kitchen. Doctor Harmon must have called, then. Tate wondered idly what he had said. A small part of him was still hurt, still seething at what had gone down in Violet's room.

But most of him was pissed. Pissed and amused.

"I told him that I wanted to murder my peers and fuck his daughter," Tate said casually, walking over to the fridge. He turned his back on Constance, a dangerous action, and pretended to peruse the refrigerator, trying to ignore the anticipatory tension in his shoulders.

Sure enough a sharp smack to the back of the head made him whip around only to receive a stinging slap across the cheek.

"Don't you use that foul language in this house you little punk," Constance said, voice low, close enough that Tate could feel the angry heat radiating off of her and see the color rising to her prominent cheeks.

Unconsciously he brought a hand up to touch the place where she had slapped him. He didn't wince though. Her slaps were common enough that he hardly registered them anymore.

Constance continued, "I smoothed things over with the doctor, told him that yes, you are very troubled but are a sweet boy, would never hurt a fly. He didn't want to see you again but I got you another hour with him. You go back there for your next session and you convince him that you are harmless. _Charm_ him like I know you can do so well. And," she jabbed him in the chest with one manicured finger, "stay away from that girl. Do you understand me, Tate?"

Tate met his mother's eyes, holding back the glare that lay just under the surface. It was no wonder he was the way he was.

He had come from _her._

Tate cleared his face of emotion and let his most lazy, charming smile spread over his mouth, never touching his eyes. "Yes ma'am."

Constance narrowed her eyes at him even more, they were just glinting slits of anger on her face but Tate could sense that he was now free to go.

So go he did.

Hence, he ended up in his room, on his bed, brooding. He hadn't looked at his guns in the past week and considered them from afar from where he now lay. Not long ago his guns had been all he had thought about. Well, besides what he would do with them. Every day he would rush home from school and lock his door behind him, falling to his knees and taking out the carefully wrapped bundles. It was his ritual.

The voices laced through his head, whispering, taunting, teasing. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the music but it didn't help. Unable to control himself he slid off of the bed and felt around for the familiar bundles, finding them and lifting them onto his bed. He uncovered his favorite shotgun and ran one finger down its cold, sleek barrel. The shiver of pleasure that he usually received at mere contact with the weapon was not there. Instead it was replaced with apprehension.

_Blood and pain and freedom_, a voice whispered.

_End their miserable, pathetic, meaningless lives. Save them from themselves._

_Escape._

Suddenly, Violet's face floated before his eyes. The image flickered and changed to one with her body riddled with bullet wounds, a stream of blood flowing from her mouth, lips parted in a silent scream and then flickered back to her as he had first seen her, bathed in California sunlight, curious yet dark. The juxtaposition of the images continued before his closed eyes and more brutal images were added on top of it. Every now and then a brief flicker of her smile, how it would feel to touch her lips with his, their fingers entwined. Their bodies entwined.

When Tate came to it was dark outside.

He shook his head and took stock of himself. He was seated on his bed with the shotgun across his lap, barrel broken and one shell loaded. A strange sort of panic swept through him then and he hurriedly packed the weapons back into their hiding place. Just as he was righting himself another strange sensation came over him and his eyes flicked over to his window.

He drew aside the curtains and peered out across the road to _her_ house. There was a light on in her bedroom window and every now and then he thought he saw a shadow move behind the illuminated curtain.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was hitting the ground with a _thud_. The air had cooled somewhat so his sweater was finally practical. The street was deserted and he approached her house. He could hear the rattle of dishes in the sink and saw the light red hair of Violet's mother bobbing around the kitchen. Mr. Harmon was nowhere to be seen. Tate slunk underneath the window where the mother was until he was below Violet's window.

The soft orange and purple light called to him. He had to see her. He stooped and felt around in the dark for small projectiles to throw at the window, hoping her music wasn't too loud to hear. Finally he gathered enough, taking careful aim he tossed a small rock at the window. He heard it click against the glass and land somewhere in the bushes in front of him. He waited, listening hard. There was a very convenient lattice work running up the wall to her window and he thought out the path that she could use to come down. Or he could use to go up.

He threw another pebble, this time a little harder. Still nothing.

One more and he would give up.

The rock hit the window just as her curtains twitched to the side. He could see her silhouetted against the light, looking down at him but he couldn't see her face. He tried to ignore the way his heart leapt a little at the sight of her.

She shoved the window up and leaned out, dark blonde hair spilling out and hanging over the ledge.

"Hey," he whispered up at her, "can you come out?" He scuffed one toe of his Converse nervously but stopped when he realized what he was doing.

"Can you come up?"

The words were music to his ears and a smile spread across his face. He dropped his pebbles and leapt up onto the lattice, scaling it with ease. Violet retreated into her bedroom as he arrived at the window and pulled himself in. He let out a silent _thank you_ that he didn't trip or stumble through the window, instead unfolding his long legs with seemingly practiced grace. Upon stepping foot into the room a sense of peace washed over him, peace that he was beginning to associate with Violet. There was something about her, she soothed him, drove away the bad thoughts, the voices.

Violet walked past him and shut the window and he could smell her intoxicating scent in the tiny wake of air that came behind her.

Then she had turned to him.

The rage that he had felt upon seeing her injuries was unprecedented. He had felt a similar sensation when Constance had hurt his siblings, but, he supposed, he had gotten used to it because seeing that angry red blossom of tender skin on her face set his blood to boil.

It had been Leah, of course it had been her. He had figured as much when he had heard about the fight, but the fact that it has also been Violet…

He _was_ proud that she was the one who fucked Leah up though.

_My kind of girl_ he thought, looking at her through the slight haze of the joint they were sharing between them. There was a touch of moisture on the paper of the joint and he savored the sensation of it on his lips. It was intimate, like a ghost of a kiss.

Their plan was pretty good, although Violet had no idea what she or Leah was in for. Maybe he was taking it too far…but this girl dragging on the joint across from him, expertly French inhaling in a way that made him slightly hard, she was different. She was fearless. She could handle it.

_Or she might run for the hills, freak._

When she had asked if he wanted to watch something he had worked hard to contain both the surprise and eagerness he felt at the simple question. Tate had thought that their night was coming to an end and had, frankly, been dreading it. The idea of leaving the sanctuary of her bedroom, of _her_, was almost painful.

From the window seat he had watched her go to her bed and arrange pillows before stretching out on the plush surface. The action was so comfortable, so natural, as if she did this all the time.

The thought of her doing this before, with some douche here in Tate's place sent a spike of irrational jealous anger through him.

_God, what was the matter with him? _

He shut her window and nervously approached the bed, pausing when his knees touched it and looking down at her, unsure. Her eyes flicked up briefly and he sat down on the bed as casually as possible, not wanting her to see his raging insecurity. Tate toed off his shoes before bringing his legs up onto the deep purple comforter. The bed was soft and inviting, somehow appropriate for her and he felt himself relax almost immediately. Well, relax aside from the way his heart was hammering in his chest.

He couldn't control his nerves; it wasn't as if he had ever been in a girl's bedroom at night, let alone on her bed. But here he was, with a girl who, quite possibly, was going to be the death of him he was becoming so addicted, a girl who actually wanted him here with her.

_Just enjoy it, you stupid fuck._

So enjoy it he did. She set the computer between them and sat back, close enough that their shoulders touched. He felt an electrical current run through him at the touch and could hardly pay attention to the opening sequence of the movie because he was so focused on that tiny, seemingly insignificant bit of contact between them.

Then she switched off the lights.

Alone, with her, in bed, in the dark. Tate had no fucking idea what to do.

He knew what he _wanted _to do. He _wanted_ to shut the laptop and slide over until he was pressed up against her, forcing a leg between hers, those legs covered by that measly slip of skirt. He _wanted_ to run a hand through her hair, the hair he knew would be impossibly soft. He _wanted_ to kiss her, to feel the heat flood him from head to toe, to feel her moan against his mouth as he sucked and bit her lower lip. He _wanted _to run a hand up her leg, all the way up to her sharp hipbone, to trace light circles on her hip, her ass, to make her shiver and breathe heavily at his touch. He _wanted_ to feel her small hand run up the back of his neck and into his hair, her fingernails scraping his scalp before seizing his hair and tugging. He _wanted-_

He inhaled sharply as he snapped back to reality. The opening of the movie was just finishing and he shifted so that Violet wouldn't be able to see the physical result of his little fantasy.

One day.

The movie was good, he would give her that. It was brutal and smart, humorous with just enough gore. The voices that normally would have started at the sight of said gore did not make an appearance. The Violet effect. He wasn't unaware that they reacted in the same way to all the same parts, and he liked it. He found that he was enjoying himself immensely. How long had it been since he had, had…fun?

Fun was an empty concept to him. He supposed that he used to have fun with his father, before everything happened, but he literally could not think of a real memory in which he had fun. Playing with Addie was sometimes enjoyable, he liked making her happy, but it wasn't _fun._

He was contemplating this when he noticed a change in Violet's breathing and then her head dropped slowly onto his shoulder. He was frozen, unsure if she was making a move on him or was asleep. He wasn't sure which he wanted to be the case. He tensed, and looked down at her without moving his head. Her eyes were closed, a lock of hair falling across her delicate features.

Asleep.

Once again, Tate was entirely unsure of what to do. Should he leave? He didn't want to leave. He had the excuse of the movie. He could pretend to be asleep…

No. He might have a nightmare. All Tate knew was that he didn't want to leave. So he carefully raised his arm, the one closest to Violet, and brought it around behind her. Her head fell a little bit more, settling into the crook between his body and arm. She nestled her head in a bit and sighed, then was still.

Tate watched her, biting his lip. He wondered what she dreamed about. Did she have nightmares, like him? He hoped she had beautiful, happy dreams. He hoped she dreamed about him.

_Stupid, _he scolded himself.

Any dream involving him was guaranteed to be a nightmare.

Tate had never felt more relaxed, more content, in all of living memory. This girl, this wonderful, mysterious, dark girl asleep, literally, in his arms, in their dark cave of solitude.

The movie ended but still he held her, guarding her from the night. He rested his head on hers, his lips and nose pressed into her hair. She smelled sweet with a hint of spice and tinged with marijuana. Tate closed his eyes and breathed her in, memorizing every sensation because he had no way of knowing if this would ever happen again. This was the closest he had ever been to another human being in his entire life. Of this he was certain.

For a moment he reconsidered his plan for Leah. Could he risk scaring Violet off? He couldn't turn back now, he had no other plan. She would understand…

Right?

Tate didn't move until the sun began to creep through the window. He cursed that infernal yellow sphere for it meant that he would have to go. Violet had shifted in her sleep and now her petite arm lay across his abdomen. He could just see the beginnings or ends of her many scars lined up like little soldiers in her battle against the world.

Feeling silly but not caring, Tate laid a feather-light kiss upon her forehead and began to slide his arm out from under her. She did not wake as he set her upon the pillows, didn't wake when he pulled the covers down from under her and then back over to cover her.

Didn't wake when he turned back from the open window to say, "Sweet dreams, Violet."

Now, walking towards his house in the afternoon light, Tate smiled at the memory. His smile faded as the house came into view, replaced by a mask of determination.

Leah would pay for what she did to Violet.

Constance was not home and Tate dropped his bag inside the door, heading straight for the basement. The stairs creaked under his quick, heavy footfalls and the smell of must and decay filled his nostrils. The ghosts were here.

"Thaddeus," he called into the dark space, "come out here you little bastard."

He heard scuffling movement and knew that the horrible, Frankenstein's monster junior was around here somewhere.

He looked over his shoulder, half expecting to see Nora. He hadn't seen her in a long time and now, when he did, she did not recognize him. It hurt when she asked "Who are you? What are you doing in my house?" Crying, always crying. She just wanted her baby…

But her baby was now the think skulking in the corners in the periphery of Tate's vision. He turned and saw a glint of light off of two beady eyes before they disappeared again.

"I have a special treat for you today," Tate said to the shadows. "But you must not kill her, and you must, under no circumstances, touch the girl with blonde hair. You got that?"

There was a low growl and, Tate thought, if a growl could be mutinous, that one would have been.

"Thaddeus," he said softly, dangerously, "If you lay one grimy hand, one tooth on the other girl, you will wish that you had stayed dead. Do you understand me?"

This time the growl was softer, submissive, and Tate knew that he had made himself clear. These ghosts acted tough, but it was so easy to master them. Well, easy for him. They knew the house had an attachment to Tate, they knew what Tate was capable of.

He shook the impending darkness from his thoughts. He had to concentrate, Violet and that bitch would be here soon and despite Thaddeus's agreement, Tate needed to make sure that nothing, _nothing_ happened to Violet. The thought of any of the monsters that inhabited the house touching Violet was enough to make him dig his fingernails into the palms of his hands, enough to make his blood start to run hot.

No, he would protect her. There was no other option.

But could he protect her from himself?

Tate dragged an old rocking chair across the dusty concrete floor of the basement, situating it directly under the single light bulb dangling from the ceiling. Jars rattled as Thaddeus scampered around the perimeter of the room, always out of sight, excited. It had been a long while since Thaddeus had anything _alive_ to torture.

He was nervous, Tate realized, as he ran his hands down his jeans to clear some of the sweat. Never before had he exposed his secret life to anyone. Constance was adamant that they keep the secrets of the house and she enforced these rules with vicious slaps and equally vicious words.

The chair creaked in the silent room, echoing off of the bare walls. Back and forth back and forth.

Suddenly the sound of the back door opening made him sit up straight, staring up at the ceiling like he could see through it. See Violet looking around with wide eyes, see her step back to let Leah in. Leah would no doubt have a scowl on her face to cover up the fear she felt. People were never comfortable here, the house made sure of that. There were too many ghosts, too many bad memories.

And one more was about to take place.

He heard the murmur of voices and the basement door opened on noisy, rusted hinges.

"What's down there?" a girl's voice asked. Not Violet, he would know Violet's voice. Leah.

"My stash," Violet replied casually. Two sets of light, hesitant footsteps descended the stairs. "parents toss my room every week. The guy who lives here lets me hide it in the basement for a small cut."

"If you're screwing with me…" Tate smiled to himself. Leah was getting scared. She had no idea what she was in for.

"It's just the basement," Violet scoffed, "I found the best hiding place. This is great shit, too."

Violet was a good little liar, it seemed. Tate wished that fact didn't make him simultaneously proud and nervous.

Violet continued on, making her story more plausible, something about lobster boats and boobs.

"So where is it?" he heard Leah ask.

"Right around the corner."

The footsteps grew nearer and he heard Violet snap, "To the right."

It was almost show time.

"This place is a dump," Leah said and Tate thought, _you got that right._

"Oh shut up!" Violet said.

"I want my goddamn drugs."

"Then keep going."

They were walking through the hall now, the hall with no lights. A few more steps and…

Violet switched on the light in the room, illuminating Tate.

"So this is the coke whore," he said casually. Leah jumped and turned to look at him with surprise and alarm.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Leah demanded.

"Get the lights."

He saw Violet smirk at him. Partners in crime.

Tate had prepared himself in the past few moments, prepared himself for what he must do.

The lights turned off.

There was a brief moment of darkness before the shitty fluorescent lights that often tweaked out began to buzz on and off. Tate had sliced the wires and loosened the bulbs earlier in the day so that the effect would be even more dramatic. Then he took a deep breath and began to laugh, a horrible, maniacal laughter that ripped its way out of his chest and throat. The darkness closed in. He was a passenger in his own body, as the monster inside took hold. He hadn't meant to let himself go completely, and he scrabbled for a purchase on his own mind but it was hard, so hard.

_Just let go, Tate. It will be so much easier if you just let go…_

"What is going on?! What is going on!?" Leah shrieked but Tate continued, losing himself to the darkness. It swept through him, at once hot and cold, creeping through his veins, shrouding his mind. He closed his eyes as he laughed and saw blood, so much blood. Saw Leah ripped to shreds before him, Thaddeus consuming her intestines, Tate smearing her blood all over the walls- He began to thrash as the demons tried to take control of him, as the voices in his head became a cacophonous roar.

Then Thaddeus came out to play.

"Kill her! Kill her!" Tate heard himself say in a deep growling voice, almost a bark, but it wasn't him. It was the voices, the demons. Maybe he had let himself go too far this time, allowed himself to be too vulnerable to them. The thrashing hurt but he barely felt it, barely was aware of anything.

Leah fell to the floor with a crack as Thaddeus tackled her.

"Get off me! Get off me!" she screamed, fighting. Tate found himself there as well, fighting for a hold on Leah's neck, her hair. He wanted to kill the bitch. Wanted to destroy her. To eviscerate her!

Then a new scream added to the chorus.

Violet.

"Taaaate!" she screamed, "STOP!" It was almost enough to make him stop. A small part, the part that was still Tate, that was still even human turned to her, saw her distorted face in the flickering light. His heart clenched.

Then he was standing behind her. He didn't know how he got there but he was, watching the show as Thaddeus continued his attack. But Thaddeus and Leah weren't the only ones doing battle. Tate was fighting himself.

_Kill her, kill her!_

_No, it's enough!_

_Destroy! Blood! Pain!_

_It's enough! Violet…_

_Kill Violet! Fucking kill them all!_

_No!_

The darkness won and Tate lunged forward, accidentally knocking Violet down in the process. He wanted to turn back, he hadn't meant to hurt her, he would _never _hurt her, but he couldn't stop - he wasn't himself, he wasn't the one in control anymore. The darkness was closing in around him, his vision was red, the bloodlust choking him, pushing him forward, causing him to ignore Violet's yelp of pain, her screams of terror.

Tate was on Leah, choking her, not enough to kill her but enough to hurt and scare her. He _wanted _to choke her to death. To watch as he squeezed the life out of her, as her eyes bulged and her lips turned blue. She deserved to die. She had hurt Violet. They all deserve to die.

Then a scream pierced the haze of bloodlust and darkness, shooting straight to his heart and turning it cold.

Violet.

He whipped his head around and saw Thaddeus crawling towards her. She was backed up against the old boiler, screaming, terrified as the monster reached towards her with claws extended. Leah forgotten, Tate leapt towards Thaddeus and flung him away. The little shit. Seemingly unaware of it all, Thaddeus went back to Leah and suddenly swept his claws across her cheek.

Then the lights went on and Tate found himself in his chair, the last remnants of the darkness slithering out of his system.

His eyes were immediately drawn to Violet who stood by the light switch, hands supporting her on the wall.

Her face was a mask of horror.

Revulsion.

The single light bulb revealed Leah writing on the floor. In an instant she leapt to her feet and ran screaming from the room as if Thaddeus was still after her. Violet darted after her, her voice a high pitched shriek as she yelled, "Will you wait?!"

Tate, still on his high, followed Violet, leaning against the door frame. They had done it, they had punished Leah. So why did Violet look so terrified?

"I don't think she will be bothering you anymore," he said, expecting Violet to agree. The look of panic on her face was somewhat unexpected but seeing Thaddeus could always do that. The human, _Tate _ part of his brain was starting to register the dark stain spreading across Violet's stocking-clad knee upon which she had fallen, the way she retreated from him .

"What was that?" she demanded, tears shining in her eyes.

The smile began to fade from his lips.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, his senses returning to him. He began to realize that he had fucked up but continued to defend himself out of habit. "She kneed me in the balls and got away! She must have run into a wall or something."

Violet's face was contorted with fear. "No I saw something!" she sobbed.

"What are you talking about? Violet you're talking crazy. This is cool, we showed that bitch."

She had seen. She had seen and she couldn't handle it. He had thought that she was fearless, why was she looking at him that way? Hadn't she wanted to scare the shit out of that bitch? Well, he had done it. For her.

She continued to back away from him, feeling her way towards the stairs without taking her scared eyes off of him.

"Get away from me!" Violet said between clenched teeth. Tate's heart went cold. "I never want to see you again!" He reached out for her then, fully coming to his senses, abruptly coming down off of his high. _I never want to see you again_. The words rang in his ears and he approached her, desperate to make things right.

She shoved him away, hitting the whitewashed brick wall before fleeing up the stairs.

_I never want to see you again._

Rage filled him then, uncontrollable.

"I thought you weren't afraid of anything!" he shouted after her as the hem of her black dress flitted out of his line of vision. He heard the door slam and then there was silence.

Tate took a shallow, shuddering breath and felt the sting of tears welling in his eyes. The darkness - it had consumed him, devoured him whole…

And she had seen.

And she had run from him.

**A/N: Ooh, I didn't want to write this part but I knew I had to. Violet had to see Tate's darkness first hand. The home invaders are coming soon, Tate's redemption. DID YOU GUYS HEAR THAT EVAN PETERS IS GOING TO BE IN THE THIRD SEASON OF AHS?! I am SO excited! As fantastic as Jessica Lang is, the show would be lacking without our dear Evan. As always, I love you all and review please! They make me ever so happy. Xx Lady Ten**


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